Mommy Dearest - Part Two

Are you lost?

Mommy Dearest - Part One
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When I was small I'd still go to my mother for comfort. It took me a few hard lessons to realize that futility.

I stopped trying at seven.

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Living on an island, the ocean was a big part of everyone's daily life. Whether it's out your window when you open your eyes in the morning, glanced at on the ride to school, a faint smell in the air that is so constant it doesn't even register, or simply an obstacle to cross when you need to get to the "mainland". My father built a sailboat by hand....it took him years, and when he was finished we would go out on the weekends in it. We would also stroll the beaches on the coast, searching for shells. In second grade we went on a class field trip to a local beach. It was the usual routine every year. Bonfire, educational papers to fill out ("Name the sea creature named for a vegetable ___________", etc.) and free time to explore. We ate our packed lunches around the fire and of course had fun figuring out what different things did when thrown into the fire. One boy had a plastic bag on a stick and roasted that until it was melting.

Then he swung the stick and the burning plastic bag hit me.

I can remember that pain clearly. The labour pains I felt with my daughter have faded into a vague memory, but that burn felt like someone scraping off my skin with a knife and a thousand bee stings all at once.

It hit me in the arm and I tried to wipe it off. Then I tried to wipe the melted plastic off my now burning fingers onto my leg. When the outside of the plastic hardened the inside kept burning.
And I couldn't get it off.

I think the teacher wrapped me in a towel. I was in shock....I felt cold and sick. And just wanted my Mom. They didn't take me to a doctor, they drove me home.

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My mother was in her garden when we got there. She threw all of her attention into how our yard looked. Those plants must have given her more validation than her family did. I wasn't supposed to bother her while she was out there. I can remember stumbling my way up the driveway and then looking for her in the house with tears and snot streaming. I found her in the yard and I started crying even harder. She asked me what was wrong, briefly turning around but continuing to dig in the ground. I choked out, "I got buuuuurned!"

She screamed at me.

Five minutes of, "I told you not to get a sunburn! You can't go on anymore field trips!" and over.

I cried harder. I wanted to tell her it wasn't a sunburn but I had to wait for her to stop. When she did, I got it out. "I was burned by a fire.". Then I lifted up my shorts, and t-shirt sleeves to show her.

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She took me to the doctors office and they dressed the burns. Third degree on my arm (through to the tissue) and second my leg and hand. A small patch on my face.

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I look at my children and I can't imagine looking at either of them sobbing in real or imagined pain and not pulling them into my arms to offer comfort.
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She never apologized. And I never forgot that in my moment of pain her first reaction was to scream at me. It wasn't the last time she would react that way. I would end up in the hospital the next time.