Riding in Cars with Memories

Last night I watched Riding in Cars with Boys. It wasn’t the first time I had seen it, and it definitely won’t be the last.

I remembered watching it in the theater with my grandma when I was pregnant with Devun… but then I stopped and thought about it, and realized it couldn’t have been that movie. There was no drive-thru scene. So of course I Googled it, and it was actually Home Fries that we saw shortly after I told her I was pregnant with Devun — both starring Drew Barrymore.

Oh my gosh… my grandma didn’t talk to me for HOURS after that movie.

So Riding in Cars with Boys must have been when I was pregnant with Marissa.

I’m going to have to watch Home Fries today and really let myself feel all the feelings.

I may have written about this before, and I’m sure when I eventually write about my high school years I’ll mention other movies too. But movies were my grandmother’s BIG escape… and honestly, in a lot of ways, mine too.

We had very similar interests. We both loved crime stories, love stories, and murder mysteries. We BOTH hated horror movies, which made choosing movies easy. We would see a commercial, look at each other, and instantly say, “Let’s go see that!”

When I was younger, before boys became my entire personality… AKA Anthony… my grandma and I used to go to the old theater during the day where movies were only $1.50. We did that for two whole summers before they sold the theater to a church. We watched EVERYTHING they showed that looked good!

As far as Riding in Cars with Boys goes… when it first came out, I hated it. Maybe it hit too close to home. Maybe there were too many similarities to my own mother. I honestly don’t remember crying during it at all back then.

Last night was a completely different story.

I was physically hurting trying to hold back tears during two specific parts.

The first was when Ray was trying to get clean. His whole body hurt, he was throwing up, and little Jason was in the back listening to all of it — not fully understanding what was happening, but understanding enough.

Ray screaming that everything hurt instantly brought back memories from my own childhood. I was probably around the same age as Jason — maybe five or six.

My mom was home during one of the many times she came back around. She had no money and was withdrawing from drugs again. I remember her crying, throwing up, hiding in my grandparents’ shower, completely falling apart.

I don’t think she was trying to get clean at that moment though, because shortly after crying to my grandmother, we all piled into the van and drove to Pittsburg. I remember my mom getting out of the car while we waited. She came back crying because whoever she met had taken the money and ran.

Then somehow we got more money and drove somewhere else. Again she got out of the car… and this time she came back with what she needed.

My grandmother hated seeing my mother in pain. She hated seeing any of us in pain. I have no idea what conversations happened between them behind closed doors. Maybe there was an agreement like, “I’ll help you today, but tomorrow you’re going into treatment.” I honestly don’t know.

Not long after that, my mom did go into a treatment program. I remember dropping her off at this big house full of mostly young women. In my child mind, it felt like part doctor’s office, part home. I only remember bits and pieces now.

But I do remember that being one of the last times I truly cried when my mother left, or i guess in this case when i left my mother.

I didn’t fully understand it then, but somewhere along the way my brain learned how to shut down emotionally. To stop feeling things. Other than my grandparents, I didn’t really trust anyone until I met Anthony.

Not long after entering treatment, my mom left and somehow made her way to Reno. My grandmother said she “hitched” there because she refused to give her money.

As a little kid, I literally pictured my mom hitchhiking with a stick over her shoulder and a little scarf tied to it like some cartoon runaway jumping onto trains.

Once she got to Reno, that’s where she stayed for most of my childhood. She would only come around for holidays until she became pregnant with Lacey and Lacey nearly died. She drank through most of the pregnancy and partied hard. Eventually a doctor called my grandmother and basically said, “She needs help immediately or this baby is going to die.” HIPAA violation ?

So my mom came back and stayed with us for the last three months of her pregnancy. Somehow she stayed clean during that time. I honestly have no idea how. Maybe methadone? Maybe something I just didn’t understand at that age.

But I do remember her laying on the couch all day long.

That was also the first time I ever watched Dirty Dancing. Eight years old, sitting on the couch with my pregnant mother.

And honestly… that’s a whole different story.

The second part of the movie that completely broke me was when the son finally exploded and basically said, “My whole life I’ve been parenting YOU.”

That one hit me hard as a mother.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out how to be a good mom when I never really had an example of what healthy parenting looked like. Babies were always easy for me… honestly, maybe that’s part of why I had so many. Babies love you no matter what. Babies need you completely.

But when you add depression into the mix, growing up without feeling truly loved by your own parents, and having a grandmother who enabled people out of love until the very end… things get complicated.

I’m grateful every single day that I had Anthony while raising our kids. He got to stay playful and carefree in ways I never really could. He filled in the gaps when I mentally or emotionally couldn’t.

To this day, some of my kids still blame me for some of the anxieties they struggle with. And honestly? I get it. I blame parts of my childhood for my own anxieties too. Maybe that’s just what happens sometimes.

Anxiety comes from life experiences. Some kids grow up in peaceful homes and never have to carry certain things. But most parents are honestly just trying to survive while figuring it out as they go.

Last night I went to bed with SO many thoughts and ideas spinning through my head. And now here I am at 7:15 in the morning feeling completely lost again.

But maybe this was what I needed to say.

Kids… I am so sorry that pieces of my childhood spilled into yours. I wish I had gotten help younger, but back then people just didn’t talk about those things the way they do now.

I love you all so much. You are my reason for everything. You are my life.

I am happiest when I’m with you.

And I feel most complete when our entire family is together.