Free Spirit

“Free Spirit”

          There are few people I could say have had an impact on my life and affected who I am today but the one that definitely stands out from the maddening crowd is my mother. Just for the record, I love her to bits but the woman was a crazy mess! Hot pink stretch pants were her signature trademark which she paired with old, tattered t-shirts of rock and roll bands like Guns N’ Roses and Metallica. She was thin in her physique, with few feminine curves to show off. Her hair was just as wild and crazy as she was; usually it was brown with coiled ringlets that bounced like little springs from the crown of her head. However, the not so usual times, left her looking like she had her hair colored at the Clown Salon sporting every color of the rainbow in streaks and sometimes polka dots.  The jewelry she wore on her fingers was not too flashy but adorned every digit on both hands and at times drew attention to the fact that she was missing the tip of her ring finger.

          As if it she didn’t create enough drama with her appearance, her boisterous personality added even more flare. She was hyper, usually very lively and keeping everything fun. However, there were times (many that only I was privy to behind closed doors) when she appeared disheartened and lonely. Her mood could switch at the drop of hat. I never knew if the next word I spoke or move I made would change her from happy to lunatic. It was a clever tap dance I had to learn to survive in that environment.

Granted, her bi-polar moods would sometimes engage the best of times we would have together. Because of her extreme highs and lows, there was usually very little she was afraid to do. She’d blast her music and dance anywhere. She had no fear of what whispers or looks she would get by being who she wanted to be. I always admired that carefree side of hers. That is, of course, unless it was causing me embarrassment since I still had a little desire for popular approval. She was simply looked at as a “free spirit” and because of this, many people adored her. Spunky and out of control at times, she still had a very soft heart and was always willing to help others out. On many occasions, I remember that she would even stretch her own means to make sure that someone else had less struggles.

My whole life it was pretty much just me and her, like yin and yang. “We are such opposites”, I would always tell myself. I feared many times growing up that I would be like her. Although she could be fun and spunky, it was the other side of her that I dreaded; the miserable and tortured part that was locked away from the world. I knew her story, from start to finish like a book that I had memorized. She was there as her father took his last breath when he took his own life, she was mentally and physically abused by loved ones on many occasions, and faced many challenging romantic relationships. In a moment she found herself, not alone emotionally, but financially and with a baby girl to nurture. Her story was a gloomy one and I understood all too well why she was the person she was. Both the upsides and downsides; I had spent many times analyzing. One time, she even said to me, “It’s disturbing that you know me better than I know myself”, and I truly did.

All those times I spent scrutinizing, worrying about becoming her led to me to criticize myself and accept room for change in everything I do. I know that no one can ever be perfect but few people are willing to admit flaws. I do this all the time. When I detect a problem, usually after long evaluation and self-deliberation, I make a decision to change. When my mother wanted change, we would move. Her monsters were too much for her to fight and I learned early that I needed to face them head on or they would begin to eat me alive as they had done to her. In a sad twist of irony, all of her struggles and hardships opened my eyes and taught me an infinite amount of lessons that I would not have to experience for myself. There are a few I still had to endure and experience despite her unspoken advice.

Now that I am growing older, I hear more and more “Julie, you’re just like your mother” and for a brief moment I stop breathing, dazed that it could be true. Are they telling me I’m crazy, wild, adventurous, loving? What are they seeing? As the oxygen slowly begins to return to my body, I think, “Is it really all that bad if I am like her?” Honestly, despite her silly antics, odd sense of fashion and the wishy washy mood swings, she really was great. I think very few people would have been able to endure as much as she did in her short lifetime and not lose their sanity a little. Yet she rarely let on that things were too rough to handle. At the end of the day, I had been taught that one cruddy day would end and quite possibly, tomorrow may bring a better one.

It may seem mundane and pessimistic to others, but it was knowing that I could do anything, whether I looked like a fool doing it or wanted to pull my hair out to make it through, and that at the end of the day it would all just simply… end. Any issues that poured into the next day became tasks instead of problems because I already had knowledge of their existence. Having the ammunition to attack the day a little more prepared than the next always made it better. I can have a moody day or goofy day and tomorrow will still be better.

It will be nine years this month since she left this world and I realize more and more, I am a lot like her. However, it doesn’t scare me so much anymore. She unknowingly made sacrifices so that I wouldn’t have to and she was still one of the most sincere, caring people I have ever known. So, if it means that I emit these traits too, then I’m proud to be like her. Tears form when I think about her but they are quickly followed but chuckles and smiles. She gave me so much and even in death, her glorious life still lives in every day I get to live mine.