My mother is a survivor, hero and friend to me

My mother is a survivor, hero and friend to me

Ninda Daianti, Contributor, Jakarta

"Goodbye, Ninda, be good, OK?" she said for the last time. Her
eyes were red from crying.

"Bye, Mom. I love you."

I hugged her tight. I never ever said those three words,
because of my pride. I didn't want to let go of her, but my
friends were waiting for me -- I had to go.

"Ninda, you have to go now," she whispered.

I broke away from her and smiled sadly. I hardly ever cried
for her, and even if I did, I at least tried not to do it in
front of her.

I didn't want her to know that I cried for her. My ego was too
huge to do such a thing. When I had to leave her, I finally
realized that I needed her more than I needed my friends or my
boyfriend or my teachers.

She was, and will always be, there for me no matter what
happens. I gave her one last look and then went to the airport
waiting room.

* * *

I was seven at the time, but I still remember everything very
clearly. My dad was reading a newspaper quietly, my sister Yinda
was eating her breakfast, and my mom was still getting ready for
work. I was putting stuff in my backpack, busy with myself as
usual. Everything was normal; it was just another day.

Five minutes later, my mom came out of the bedroom and sat
next to my dad.

"We have some news to tell you," my dad started. He looked
right into my eyes, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

My sister and I were just waiting for him to continue. We knew
that this day would come sooner or later. After all, we weren't
stupid, we knew that they didn't sleep in the same room any more.
They didn't even talk to each other unless they had to.

"We're getting a divorce," my mom continued. She was too
impatient to wait for my dad to say those words. It was too hard
for him; he was too afraid.

The statement stabbed me in the heart right away. I wanted to
die. I didn't understand much about marriage, but I knew that
divorce was definitely not a good thing. It meant splitting up,
not together anymore, starting over and no more family dinners.

"When are you guys getting the divorce?" my sister asked. She
kept her eyes on the floor, didn't want our parents to look at
her.

She understood more about this kind of thing than I did, so I
bet it was harder for her. My dad and mom looked at each other,
wondering who was going to answer my sister's question.

My brave mom turned to Yinda and said, "It's already been
done, but we haven't decided if the two of you will be living
with me or your dad."

More bad news. I didn't know what I wanted to do and what to
say right there and then. I was speechless. I walked quietly to
my dad and hugged him. I buried my face in his arms. My sister
didn't say anything; she was speechless too.

* * *

I was always afraid of asking mom about the divorce. It was
one subject we always avoided. We never, ever talked about it.
When I was 13, I was dying to ask her.

I had so many questions, anger, confusion and sadness inside
me. I asked those questions to my sister instead, and she
answered what she knew. It was easier to ask her, and it helped a
lot.

We also talked about it, so we could let our feelings out.
I knew my mom wasn't prepared to talk about it, so I didn't want
to make her. When she was ready, then I would be ready to listen
to her. I understood that it must be really hard for her. If I
was her, I probably wouldn't survive.

She was finally ready. It was such a big deal for us; she
booked a great hotel that my sister and I liked very much. We
spent the night there without knowing that she was going to talk
about the divorce.

My sister and I had no clue when she told us to sit down; I
was still clueless. The three of us sat at the round table in the
hotel room.

"I think it's time for you guys to know my side," she told us
directly. I looked at my sister, scared and unprepared. We knew
what she was talking about. I was to small to remember anything
about it. In fact, I didn't really remember having a dad in my
life. I didn't have a father figure while growing up; I only had
a mother figure.

"It was hard for me," she started. My sister listened
carefully. I didn't want to listen, I wasn't ready to hear what
she had to say. It was too painful.

"I didn't exactly know when it began. Dad and I just started
to grow apart. And then, Rieke came into his life. She was always
there for him when I wasn't there for him. She seemed so right
for him. Maybe I wasn't a good wife; maybe I was gone too much. I
really don't know what his reasons were.

"Everybody told me that he cheated on me, but I didn't want to
believe them. For a while I was lying to myself. I knew that he
really was cheating on me. But I was too scared to tell him how I
felt. Your father was a really good talker and he was so good at
turning everything around to point back at me. He was so good at
repartees, and I wasn't. I didn't say that it was all his fault,
it was my fault too."

She took a deep breath.

"There was one time when I went to the Netherlands and your
dad told you guys to call Rieke 'Mom'. It was too much for me.
Then he accused me of cheating, too. That's when we decided that
the marriage wouldn't work at all, and we got divorced."

She told the story with tears in her eyes. I knew that there
were many more things that had happened, but she didn't want to
tell us. She didn't want to think Dad was a jerk. I looked at my
mom -- she was crying so much I don't think I ever saw her like
that.

"I'm sorry this had to happen to you guys. It was actually the
best thing that ever happened to me. It was like being free
again. After all, life is a vicissitude, and you just have to
deal with these things."

I held her hands tight. "I love you, Mom," my sister said. She
stood up from her chair and hugged Mom. I didn't say anything.

Mom looked at me expectantly, and I hugged her, too. It was
too emotional for me, but letting go of the anger that I had kept
inside for so long was such a good feeling. After we calmed down,
she smiled happily, glad that she had told us. We realized that
we had each other, and that was what was important.

"You both know that I don't like to talk about this stuff, so
I brought all the divorce papers, including the letters and
everything else. You can look through it," she handed my sister a
huge folder and we began to read.

* * *

I thought talking about the divorce would be the hardest part.

I was wrong.

It started with a phone call from a bank saying that my dad
owed them money. It wasn't our problem, of course, but he had
taken out a second mortgage on the house we lived in. The worst
thing was, he didn't seem to be paying off his loan.

My mom was very stressed out by this. She had avoided talking
to my dad since the divorce; she didn't want anything to do with
him anymore.

But my mom thought enough was enough. She decided to surprise
him and made plans to visit him. She wanted to talk to him in
person. I didn't want to go, but I was also excited about seeing
him at the same time. I hadn't seen him for more than a year. He
lived in a suburb and it took us two hours to find his house. My
uncle came with us to make sure we were okay.

I never saw my mom so nervous before. When we knocked on the
door, we were all curious. I wanted to see how he lived, what his
house was like, and whether he had a cat or a dog. He opened the
door. His face was exactly the same as I imagined.

"Yinda, Ninda, Naindra and Dito, what a surprise."

He acted like it was a normal situation. He kissed and hugged
my sister and then me. He shook hands with Mom. It was very
awkward. He suddenly laughed, for no particular reason. It
sounded raucous. We just stared at him like he was crazy.

I studied his house. There were pictures of him and his wife,
Rieke. There were also pictures of their daughter and her
children, but no pictures of my sister and me. I looked around
the house; it was too quiet.

I guessed Rieke wasn't home. My mom then got straight to the
point. I sat close by her, as if I was watching over her. It must
be really hard for her, seeing her ex-husband with a new life.

My sister and I decided to be taciturn to him, but he didn't
seem to notice.

In the car outside, she exhaled loudly.

"Oh my God, I'm so glad that's over." My sister and I kept
quiet. We were both speechless again. She was so brave and she
did a wonderful job. She kept her cool when she was talking to my
dad. It was as if she was emotionless. I expected her to break
down and cry, but she didn't. Instead she said, "Do you guys want
to get something to eat?" shocking me.

* * *

My relationship with my mom is unique. She's more of a friend
than a mother. She's my best friend, my teacher, my role model,
and sometimes an enemy. She's the person I want to be when I grow
up.

Maybe a year ago, I would have been too embarrassed to talk to
her in front of my friends, but those feelings are gone now. I
understand that being her is so hard and I don't want to make it
even harder for her.

I'm proud to be her daughter and I'm lucky to have her as my
mom. I love her and I'm not afraid to say it to her any more.

The writer, Ninda, is a 17-year-old exchange student studying
in Litchfield, Minnesota.