Peanut Butter

I realize now I have avoided peanut butter all these years. Just recently – eight years later – I have reclaimed it for myself. I love peanut butter! But there was a long time it brought back too much discomfort. Too much guilt.

I hadn’t heard from Mom in a while. It was getting chillier in the Houston area, around November. Mom called to tell me she was styaing in a motel. Her voice was a bit slurred early that morning as it came tinny over the phone. She didn’t have any food. She asked if I could give her some peanut butter.

I was learning a little bit about alcoholics, or so I thought. I knew that if you provided them with things that aided in their addiction, you weren’t helping them. In fact, you wer hurting and even prolonging their pain. At the time, in my ignorance, I felt that if I gave her the peanut butter – all she asked for was peanut butter – that I would be enabling her. I could picture her in that run down place, and I knew she had spent money or gotten someone to pay for her obvious intoxication and for the room. I thought that any expense she had or needed was wrapped up in that whole system of her disease. So, I said no.

Right now, it hurts me to even think of that. The shame I feel for denying my mother this necessity even in this moment causes me to stop typing, cry out, and hold my face in my hands. I complete typing this sentence with blurred vision from tears.

At the time, every new behavior I was learning hurt. I certainly did feel awfully at the time about denying my mom the food, but I felt awful doing any new behavior that was right regarding her. So, I didn’t recognize it as hurting because it should hurt - because it was wrong.

I know Mom forgives me, whether I deserve it or not. I went overboard in what I thought would help, only to realize with hindsight that of course I could give my mom some peanut butter. That is an essential. It didn’t mean I was enabling her disease of alcoholism.

Here is how she was so sweet and humble even in the midst of her diesase: she asked for some peanut butter. She ASKED. For some peanut butter. Not a meal, or groceries. Or money. And she asked. She didn’t, as any mother rightfully could have, direct me to help her. And it was for FOOD. The most basic need we have.

To add insult to injury, her own daughter refused. Me. I am that daughter. I have to own that. I pray that my lack of wisdom and insight did not damage her too badly physically. I hope that someone who was capable of more understanding and generosity at the time gave her some food.

I know that she knows now how sorry I am. She always knew how wrong I was. And she loved me, as I love her still.

To this day, I almost always have at least one jar of peanut butter in my car. I give it to anyone who asks, and to many who simply accept the gift I am extending to them at the red light where they hold a sign, or the corner wher they huddle with their belongings.

I also have to forgive myself. I get to recognize that we all did things that seem cruel and things that were hurtful to each other in our struggle together with this disease. “Forgive my trespasses, as I forgive those who have trespassed against me.”