Her life after the birth of my little brother bared little resemblance to her life before. She seemed settled within herself and her life. Her inconsistencies lost their edges. Her reactions to life, while never predictable, became less varied.

She even resumed some of the more demanding activities of being a mother to her teenage daughters. Three of them at least. Showing her investment in them with discipline, involving herself in decision about their lives, even going so far as to miss work when one of them needed care. None of them re-entered the mother/daughter relationship with ease, but there was effort.

Except with her youngest daughter. The lack of bonding never gave their relationship fertile ground to grow. They did reach some sort of understanding though. There was mutual affection, but my mom knew the time had past for a real bond to grow. The now 12 year old daughter had gone without something she never understood, so she didn’t know life could be different.

My mom was living the life she dreamed of. Her youngest son was a healthy happy baby who had a mom and dad involved in his life. The father of her son had moved in and they lived as a real family, although she chose to remain unmarried. She had tried that once. Never again.

It wasn’t picture perfect however. The family of her son’s father was very against the relationship. A great deal of pressure was put on him to end the relationship and find a woman more to their liking. My mom was not the right color. So her son couldn’t be the right color either.

It all came to a head one night when the grandparents of my brother were invited to dinner. My mom opened her home and exposed her children to people who only saw us all as unworthy. My brothers father left with them.

Again my mom was left to raise a child alone. But she wasn’t alone. She had her daughters. Her daughters had stuck with her through some really dark times. She knew they would be there for her. She wasn’t wrong.