Regardless to the type of mother you may have been, if you are not satisfied with that, you can always change.  Maybe you were an absentee mother or a mother that was there physically, but not emotionally.  Maybe you were a mother locked away in prison.   Maybe you were a mother on drugs.   You do not have to dwell in the past.   You can move forward.  Be the best mother.

My MotherCredit: Betty Asphy

As I think back about memories of my mother, I recall that her and my grandmother did not seem to get along very well.  I remember them always arguing about this or that.  There was a time  that I lived with my grandmother and my father.  I was very happy.   My mother would come by occasionally to see me.  I remember one day she came by and took me with her to a friend‘s house.  We went about a block away.   I remember her taking my hair down over her friends’ house and braiding  it again.   She stated, “They started straightening my baby's hair and it has just taken her hair out.”  I remember being “tender headed.”  I could not stand to get my hair combed. I would cry.    When I recall looking at pictures of myself in elementary school, my edges were just matted and nappy.  

I recall my older sister and me going to church with our mother.   She had bought us each a purse.  My sister had a shiny red purse and I had a dull green purse.  I was mad about this, because I wanted the shiny red purse.  I wondered why my sister had to get the red purse.   Anyway, we left church during the service.  I guess I did not really care for the green purse.  I forgot and left it on the pew.   After leaving out, I remembered that I left if and told my mother.   She sent me back in to get it.  I think I was only 2 or 3 years old.  I remember having to cross in front of this entire row of people.   I was so embarrassed to do this.  It seemed like it took eternity to recover that old green dull purse that I disliked so much. 

Credit: Betty Asphy

Photo credit: matthew_hull from

Then there was the time I was in a Foster Home.  I can still visualize the Foster Home.  It was a very large white house.   It had a white picket fence surrounding it.   The yard was extremely large.  I lived upstairs in the addict.   I would run upstairs to look out the window when my father and mother would leave after visiting me.  I was about 3-years-old, but I remember it vividly.    I spoke of this often.  I was there, because my father was in the process of going to court for custody.   Both my father and mother would visit at different times.  This little boy would hit me in the head most of the time.   He made the mistake hitting me when my mother had come to visit.  I remember my mother “raising holy Hades.”   She fussed at my foster-mother.   This did not sit well with her.  I was so happy that my mother spoke up for me.   This I do remember.  The little boy never hit me in the head again.  That was a relief.

I remember part of one of my mother’s finger was missing.   It looked like a stub of a finger.   She would often tell me about how she stuck her finger in a fan as a little girl.   She only had part of her finger.  I always remembered never stick my finger in a fan.  I did not want to have part of a finger like my mother.  That memory of my mother definitely stayed with me.

My memory of mother was that she was a fast talker.  Many times, she would out talk my father.  My father would get upset and start stuttering.  My father would take me to visit my mother.  I remember telling him I did not have to go see her, because I had him.  I guess I did not understand why I needed to go, since he was taking care of me.  Anyway, his response was, “You are going anyway, because that is your mother.”  I now understand even though I did not at that time.  I now know what they mean when they say opposites attract.  My mother talked all the time, but my father talked very little.   Although, when he did talk, he meant what he said and I knew it.

My sister and I would often talk.  She had different memories of our mother seemingly, than I did.  My sister always remembered being ashamed of our mother.  I always remembered being afraid.  It is something that each of us have distinct memories that we carry with us.  Feeling afraid or ashamed of your parents is not a good feeling.   As I grew older, I eventually lived with my aunt and grandmother and would visit my father during the summer months. I remembered feeling so sorry for my younger brother and sister.   

I married at age 19.   I would go and get my sister and brother during school break when my mother was ill.  I was so determined that I would be  a good  influence  in their lives.  My brother was age 15.  He did not want to listen to me.   He felt that I could not tell him anything.  My sister, however, was very obedient at age 13.    My mother was outspoken.  She did not hesitate to speak her mind.   Sometimes as a child, we do not understand the why of everything.  We just know.    We may not like it.  When I look at my sisters, I see parts of my mother in all of us.  I see the goodness.  I see that she did the best that she knew then.   I see my sisters and I have produced beautiful, smart, educated children. What memories do you have of your mother?  If your mother is still living you can creat new memories.