A New York Summary: Part 4 of 10

MAMI

My mother and I didn't become mother and son until the 26th of March, 2006. Up until then I hated her with so much fury I had wished death upon her time and time over. I had my reasons but I didn't know her whole story. I always imagined her as the evil witch who would feed you a poisoned apple. I have learned however that there is no such thing as a villain, only a hero in a bad situation.

Sunday the 26th of March, 2006 was the first time I went to church as an adult, of my own accord. It was a simple service that spoke of forgiveness. I don't know what it was but that service got to me and I broke down with tears. I called my mother that day and I forgave her, I also thanked her. It was her birthday.

Although I did move a step closer in our relationship I was far from understanding her. She was still a villain in my eyes, just one I was keeping in my corner.

Through this last year I discovered a lot of what her life was like as a child - growing up with a bit of luxury and then having it ripped away at the same time her father was assassinated. Growing up dirt poor but also managing to make it to the USA but having to leave her two young sons behind. It would be another 13 years before she would be with them again and by this point she would have another child, me, who she would also send away for some time. The men she loved and trusted would leave her and she had to work on her own to build a life that allowed her to reclaim her family.

We would become a happy little family again. All living in a one bedroom apartment before moving into a three bedroom at which point she would settle down with another and would bear two girls. But of course her curse took hold and these two girls, who she wanted for as far back as she could remember, wouldn't make it beyond their first month of life and their grief stricken father would leave us all. Again broken and alone it was at this moment that my mother became a villain. The moment when she gave up.

That was then and this is now. My mother raised four boys (with my younger adopted brother) on her own and though I can't remember her having a job past my 7th birthday, she managed. I should also point out that she had an accident when I was 15 that left her right arm paralysed.

Though she spent the majority of her life living in ghettos and in poverty she has not forgotten her roots. Refuses to leave the house without a pair of heels and when at home walks around in her silk robe.

She believes a woman's place is in the kitchen and has cooked 3 meals a day (from scratch) for her children to this day. Set your woman’s lib ideas aside - this was her choice and I have grown up with proper manners because of it.

She may not have been the first woman I called Mami but she is my Mami today.