Unearthing the Roots: A Journey through My Formative Years

Growing up I knew I was loved. My mother was creative, strong, kind, and empathetic. She led by example, she was my role model and my hero. My mother's love is what guided me through the journey of my formative years. My father was bipolar; he'd have periods of severe depression followed by extreme mania which usually resulted in arrest and jail/prison. Because of this I faced a fair amount of adversity and trauma, but my mother taught me to meet these obstacles with strength and empathy. My father was ill and like so many with mental illness he chose not to medicate. Naturally, his choice created a heavy burden on our family. We moved frequently, staying within the same area, and my father gained a bad reputation in town. The parents of some of my friends stopped letting them spend time with me outside of school.

When I was six my parents divorced and my mom moved my older brother and me to Oregon, where her sister lived with her husband and son. I don't remember if I saw my father much, or at all, during this time but I do remember feeling safe and removed from the chaos. My father was never able to consistently provide child support leaving my mother to work two jobs and struggle to support us. We lived with my aunt in the beginning, then moved to a tiny two bedroom house where my mom slept on a futon in the living room and the only door to the bathroom was through my bedroom. After a year or so my mother found an opportunity as a live-in caregiver for an elderly man with Alzheimers. He lived in a 4 bedroom house on a lake outside of town where there was plenty of room for my mom and two kids. My mom put in a large garden, my bother and I had ample room to explore and play, but after a time we all agreed that we missed our friends in California and made the decision to move back.

When we arrived back in Cali we lived for a summer with my dad in converted barn on property for which he was a caretaker. It was rustic and cramped, my mom and I slept in our VW camper bus, while my brother and father were in the sleeping quarters in the barn. But we again had a large garden and there was plenty to do for a child with a good imagination. My mom and I attended local arts and crafts summer classes, and our landlord had horses that my brother and I were able to have few lessons riding. I remember that summer being happy and care free.

  Before the start of the new school year my mom found a house in town that she, my brother and I moved into. We kept a good relationship with my father and everything seemed to be going well. Unfortunately, that year my father had another episode. My brother's best friend from Oregon was visiting and we were planning a day trip to the coast. My father came over demanding to use the bus and when my mom refused he became increasingly agitated. He picked my mom up by the collar of her coat and shook her - for reference my dad was 6'4" and my mom 5'3". My brother came out and tried to de-escalate the situation and my father shoved him into the brick wall in front of our house. My mom took my brother inside and called the police, during that time my dad kicked in a panel on our front door. The police came and arrested him before any more damage or injury was done and my mother immediately got restraining orders for the family.

It was around this time that I first met Mr. X. We were in 5th grade and had some friends in common. He was one of the cool kids, class clown, skater/bmx boy, all the girls liked him, I was surprised when he asked me out. We went to a play at the local theater and he brought me a carnation, which I dried and hung on my wall. We dated for several months through the summer and into the beginning of 6th grade, when he broke up with me. I was a hippie girl and he wanted to be a hick. I was devastated and even started wearing Wranglers and listening to county music in hopes that he would change his mind. He didn't and he told me later that he'd idolized his older sisters boyfriend, who was WILD, and was modeling himself in his likeness.

Later that same year my father had an episode. During the manic stage he came to my school. Even though we had the restraining order filed with the office, he was given my location. It was career day and I was in a different classroom than usual, with different students, one of which was Mr. X. My father came in wearing short cut off jean shorts and a green turtleneck, two sizes too small. He went to the front of the classroom, interrupting the teacher, and began telling the class that he had a van on which he wanted a mural painted on by kids and that he would be parked in the public parking downtown after school if anyone wanted to come help paint it. He said he had a daughter in the class but wouldn't say who it was because her face was already so red, making it quite obvious who I was - I was mortified. He was arrested shortly after this, I don't know if it was for violating the restraining order or if he did something worse. Through all of this my mother taught me that he was controlled by his bipolar disorder and that not taking meds was common, it didn't mean he didn't love us and his actions weren't personal, they were part of his illness. She helped me understand that you can love someone and have empathy for them but still need to separate from them, that it's okay to put yourself first.

I don't remember having much of a relationship with my father for the rest of my school years. I know I saw him at my dance recitals and would reluctantly take a picture with him. I began to struggle academically in my last year of middle school and after my freshmen year of high school I left to do independent study. The school I attended worked with me so that I was able to take a few college courses and graduate a year early. My father was invited to my graduation but missed the ceremony. He arrived later and accused my mom and me of giving him the wrong time so that he wouldn't be in attendance. Even without being manic he managed to ruin my day of celebration.

The next autumn my mother fell ill. She had a cold and injured her ribs during a coughing fit. After that her physical and mental health started to rapidly decline and a friend convinced her to go to the doctor. She was reluctant but went. It turned out she'd had an abnormal mammogram 8 years prior and never followed up. She'd known she had cancer but had been trying to treat it holistically. I had always thought it was strange that she was keen to try all the new health crazes - olive leaf extract, wheat grass, colloidal gold and silver, etc. By the this time her cancer had metastasized throughout her body; she was put on hospice and given weeks to live. My childhood was officially over.

My mother's doctor decided to try giving her dexamethasone to help with inflammation. Within a day she went from acting like she had dementia to being my mother again. She was still frail, and not as sharp minded as before, she was still dying. She told me she hadn't sought medical treatment because she'd made too much to qualify for MediCal but couldn't afford private insurance. If she'd quit her job or found one that paid less in order to qualify for MedicCal, she felt she would likely have had to find childcare for me while she was in treatment and again wouldn't be able to afford it. She regretted that choice but was also glad she'd been able to be a dependable, supportive parent during mine and my bother's school years.

A few weeks turned into a few months, and ultimately a couple of years. It became apparent that we could no longer stay in the house together as we could not afford rent. My mom qualified for subsidized housing and I found a small cabin to rent; my brother was already out of the house and living with his girlfriend. We moved my mom into her apartment and signed up with In Home Supportive Services so that we could be her main caregivers. I was granted near full time hours so I didn't have to find a second job and could spend my days with my mom. I cooked and baked with/for her, helped her with art projects, we bickered about normal things - she hated my music, I thought she was nagging. My dad stepped in and took on shifts as well so my brother and I could have breaks. This went on for two years and then, just as the hospice nurses had predicted, she began to decline fast. A few days into this decline she called me at home late at night, begging me to ask the doctor to give her meds to help her die. She was in so much pain and nothing was helping. The next day she slipped out of consciousness and the day after she was gone. I was 19 and my mother - my rock, my source of strength, the person who loved me most in the world, was gone.

My dad held it together long enough to help with my mom's memorial but shortly after went into mania, stealing a friend's car and landing in jail. Although I was grateful for the help he'd offered during my mom's last years I realized that I needed to distance myself from him again. We remained mostly estranged after that - I told him that I didn't want to have a relationship with him until he could show me he would stay one his meds, and that would take years to. He never fully respected my wishes and continued to reach out, sending cards and childhood photos, trying to manipulate me into seeing him. He even turned up at my work one day, using the excuse that he'd just stopped to use the restroom on his way through town, and wasn't it clandestine that we should run into each other. As the years went on, he continued to have episodes, one of which nearly cost his life. I visited him in the hospital, thinking that if he were to die I would regret not seeing him. It only solidified my need to remain estranged, and we did. He passed away during Covid and while a part of me will always wish I'd been able to have my father in my life, the greater part knows that it was the right decision to protect myself and the peace I'd created in my life.

Me, my bother, brother and father, during happier times

My mother, brother and I in the yard of one of our many California homes

Hanging in the tree in the yard of our tiny Oregon house