Log #1
**The words of my mother.** It was September 9th, 2009 when it was announced that I and my little sister would be put in permanent custody. Not so much as a cry but rather a scornful depressed scowl upon my mothers face as a tear was shed and a tight hug enough to know my mother hated me as she dug her nails along my back like talons. At the time I had thought my mother was clinging to me, not wanting to let me go. It had been 13 years that had passed before I saw my mom again. 13 years of no contact. Which means no letters, gifts, or even a accidental bump in at the grocery store. I was not allowed to see my mother until I was of age and no longer in the system. My big sister drove me to see mother. Despite my discomfort I was curious. The questions that had been on my mind I wanted answered. The most sought after was; "Did mom really love me? Did she hate me? Was she still with the man she chose to be with instead of me and my little sister?" These questions were indeed answered... However it was not pleasant. I had thought she would welcome me with open arms, grab hold in a warm embrace, I'd walk in and see her happy and sober from her addictions. It would be like in movies where seperated children who were lost for a long period would be held by their parents and welcomed with open arms. Like the movie "Anastasia" or like Wendy Darling and her brothers when she came back from Neverland. But movies are just that. Movies. The first thing I noticed when we drove into her home was the long unkempt grass and the smell of old cat food as we walked to the door. Mother loved cats. The only animal she liked and would never harm to be honest. The smell when I stepped in was suffocating. Enough second hand cigerette smoke to kill an infant or someone with asthma. Which is what ironically, my mother had. She was laughing and smiling when she had seen my big sister step in. However, when I came in, the laughter stopped. Her hands shook, an indicator of her nerves and blood pressure spiking. She bit her tongue a bit but then pulled out a cigerette. She looked at me, and the words that came out were this. "You're fat." After 13 years of not seeing me, those were the words she spoke. Not a "Hello, I missed you." Not a "How've you been?" Saying "You've grown", would've been nicer. Even the joy left her face when she saw me. The irony is that she is also overwieght. However, I did not talk back. I reminded myself that I was 23 now. She could no longer hurt me. But the biggest reminder and realization that the small interaction gave me was this: "Mother didn't love me and I was not her little girl anymore." //This is what it was like when I reunited after me and my mom reunited when I was an adult. Not all stories are the same. However, this is mine I am willing to share. If you yourself have a story of what it was like growing up in the foster system, don't be afraid to post it in "Ask Me" in the bio of this blog. Art from the game: Little Goodie Two Shoes.
