I meet a lady once. She lived in the opposite side of a duplex I was residing with my first husband. I was all of 18 years old. She had a young daughter and I had went to be the friendly neighbor and introduce myself. To my surprise when she answered my knock at the door she instantly wept and wrapped me in her arms. I had no recollection of her at all. She had been a roommate to my mother when I was the age my kids were then. (toddler years) She told me horrific childhood stories of her and my mother’s drug habits. Of the horrible choices that they had made. A story of me drawing on the walls and the beating I had gotten for it. How my eyelashes full of tears had tugged at her heart strings that day. I have no idea how much of it is true. I clearly have blocked out many memories because I don’t remember living with my mom much at all. I always remember being at some family members and even those are few and foggy until into teenage years and after moving out. I went to my mom and asked who this girl was and if the stories had any truth. She gave no answers. The girl’s daughter tried hard to share many memories of us and how our mothers were. I couldn’t even remember her. I wanted so badly to fill in the blanks but my mother offered none of the puzzle pieces that she held. Pretty much the only one who would speak to me of those days was my Grandma Dee and I could never decyfer her fables from facts. I tell my kids openly the mistakes I made drinking and losing them and not having the income I needed to provide and just not getting my shit together. I answer every single question honest and openly. I thank my mom for that really for the bond I have built with my kids is because of the one I lacked with her. I share my mistakes so that they can learn from them. So I can show them that I am human and will screw up as they will too as a parent as a child as a human…. We love each other even when we are hard to love. We give forgiveness and love through the mistakes. I think I hold anger for what I don’t know. For answers I wasn’t given. I wish I could let go. Forgiving would be far better for my heart…. It’s just I don’t think she even feels remorse. There I go again another excuse for why I can’t do something. Clearly she is not in control over my ability to forgive I am. I can’t ever imagine my kids being to hard to love. I always have felt to hard to love by everyone but them. I thought that the reason I wasn’t for them was that I taught them to love even through the hard. By sharing it with them and not pretending it wasn’t there. No brushing it under the rug in this family. I didn’t have custody because I wasn’t the best mom I could be. It’s a hard mistake to make and one I shall never make again.