It's Hard to Imagine Sometimes

A few nights ago, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  Sometimes my past creeps up and knocks me right on the head.  You see, because things go so well most of the time (as in 98% of the time), I forget how hard things have been for me.  I forget the pain I've endured and overcome.  Well, on Saturday night, it all came back.  I was reading my latest book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, and somehow it brought stuff up to the surface for me.  Our brains' connections are funny things.  It only lasted for a few minutes.  But it lingers with me.

If I were my mother, I would have a child about to start the second grade (me), have a 1 year old (Matt) and be pregnant with my third child (Mike).  I know where I was in second grade, and it was not living with my mother.  In fact, the summer before second grade is the summer she lost custody of me.  That would be like this summer, her being my age.  In fact, just thinking about this fact again makes my heart race and makes me feel short of breath.  What a realization.  I think about how I feel at this age.  I'm 27 about to be 28.  I have the capacity to love completely, which I had actually questioned my ability to do previously, and am excited for Erik and I to start our family (in a few years).  At any rate, I cannot imagine having a daughter and just stopping the fight for her.  Even at this age.  I think of my mom, who married my dad at 19 and had me at 21.  My dad was much older and probably more formidable in the courtroom/ at the conference table than her (not to mention his whole family).  But really?  How could you not devote all of yourself for a part of yourself?  This is even more poignant for me as I begin to see how moms really are supposed to feel about their babies.  My friends' blogs and Facebook pages are covered in their darlings and I love them for that.  My MiL shows what motherhood should mean.  These shining examples just further confuse me about my own mother.

After realizing the significance of this summer, I started thinking about fights that we had and about how she basically told me that I wasn't welcome at her house anymore.  She was 32 at the time.  That's 5 years from now for me.  That's only 1 year older than one of my closest friends.  Now that I'm getting older, I'm actually finding it harder to forgive her/ understand her.  I just can't imagine her point of view.  I can only imagine that this will continue get harder as I get older and start my own family.