I am my mother?

I stop and think....why am I here? Have I a purpose on this earth?

Yes, we all serve a purpose.

Lately, I have been having quite the struggle; let me explain...I grew up in a normal family, dysfunctional in almost every possible way. I am finally realizing that everyone has "hang ups" and "issues" but, somehow I have had a constant craving to 'fix' my issues. Many people just choose to see their life as totally normal, go on either successfully finding coping skills to avoid propagating the dysfunctions. Possibly, just living in denial and passing those issues onto future generations.

For years I have known I thought completely differently than others. (Though MY WAY was the correct way, of course!)

I recently did the math. I have been in some kind of mental and emotional therapy for over ten years. TEN YEARS!
With that said, I have learned quite a lot of what I thought was my problems, lets start from my impressions of my mom.
My mother that had a defeated self esteem paired with a hot temper along with a focus problem (ADHD I now see), and borderline hoarding issues. She came with the positive attributes of being a nurturing (sometimes almost smothering mother and wife, smart, outspoken, funny and beautiful inside and out). Mind you, she had her moments; as I am seeing mirrored in my actions and thinking as I get older. The statement "I am my mother" is quite true in many sense of the words with me.
I see her as a kindred spirit. Let me see how I can express the similarities?
My mother could be one of the kindest people in the world. She would give anything to anyone; even if it meant giving them her own prized possessions or giving of her time and money (neither of which she had much of for very long). From what I have been told, her father Charles was much the same. A man that would "give you the shirt off of his back". I wouldn't know that about him - personally, as I was born the April after he died. I like to think he got to know me in heaven, and gave me a spiritual link to his soul in heaven? His kindness and gifts for accomplishment - through my mother’s genes and actions in giving life to me.
My mother could also be a terror. She was a very passionate person; and again, we have much of that in common. When I was younger, I would fly into irrational rage in a blink of an eye (I have since TRIED to control that trait - sometimes I slip, but not often). My mom did her best to reign in her own temper, unfortunately she was blessed with me when she was 40 and shortly thereafter; going through menopause. I tested her every nerve, and was a continual irritation and love in her life. We were close in ways I do feel that my sisters were not privileged to experience in their relationship with my mother (who I will just refer to as "mom" from this point on, as she always felt that "mother" was much too formal).
My mom and I were compadres. We were together through thick and thin. Looking back, there were thinner than thick times. But, we survived the best way that we could.
I've always felt that she and I were WAY too similar. She was the third and youngest sister in her family (no brothers); I was also the third and youngest sister in our family (no brothers).
She was a self admitted "wild child" of sorts when growing up in a small Southern Utah town during the 40's and 50's. She was the "black sheep" in the family; and somehow I feel as if she wouldn't have done anything differently than she did during her life...even the many decisions that made her road bumpy and hard.
She was raised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints aka; Mormon. I believe that she had a strong testimony up until the moment of her death. Mom was married three times; my oldest sister is from her second marriage. In those days I am sure it was quite the scandal and challenge to be a single mother during the 50's. (She found herself pregnant during the divorce process and my sister's "sperm donor" never 'manned up' enough to admit he was the father; and subsequently my father legally adopted her.)
She was quite the pioneer spirit; as she was ahead of the curve on that lifestyle! Being a "single mother" in the 50's was a rarity. According to my research; only 11% of US mothers were classified as single mothers in 1950 compared to 31% in 2002. Mom found a husband in my dad Albert E. Turner, and they were married for over 24 years. During that time we were all victim to (mainly) emotional abuse from both mom and dad.
Do not get me wrong, we had fun and happy times on trips and in our house. We were not unlike any other family in that sense. We didn't KNOW any different, at least I didn't. Getting back to the comparisons to my mom -I too have felt very much, the "black sheep" of our family. I would do almost anything for any of my friends or family; and even some strangers! I have what mom called "the gift of gab" as she had, and also the natural charm that she exuded that attracted people to her.
I have had several people tell me that they have noticed that perfect strangers are drawn to me and that I could talk to almost anyone and strike up any conversation. I attribute that gift solely to my mom. She could be out shopping or doing errands and inevitably, she would start chatting up a sales clerk (total stranger) and either quickly identify common interests or common family lineage! As a youngster I felt embarrassed by this talent, just to grow up to find that I had inherited the same exact talent!
Now, I almost speak of my maternal grandfather as if I knew him on this earth, and though I DID know my maternal grandmother - I cannot seem to recall much of her personality. She died when I was 8 years old. The most that I can envision from my visits with her are physical things, such as the dimensions of their home in Kanab Utah or the way that I would try to jump to tinkle the oriental looking wind chime that hung in the middle of the arched doorframe between the dining room and living room at my grandma's home. I just remember that she always had me check pennies to "see if there was an 'S' stamped as the mint stamp" as it would be worth tons of money...and, she always had these big disk cherry chewable vitamin C tablets in a big bottle above the stove that she would give me as a "treat" (strange but true!).
I, personally, do not have all of the fond personal memories of "Grandma Sue" as my older sisters do; so I only base much of my personal history on one generation on my mother’s side of my life.
My mom was a wonderful strong woman. She was a truly good person in her heart. God must've known her struggles- as when she was diagnosed with colon cancer; she knew little pain (even though the cancer had spread to her liver, stomach, and lung); in the subsequent three weeks until she left these earthly bonds. I often wonder why I feel that her death was the most wondrous experience of my short life. I was all of 29 when my mom died at out apartment home that we had lived in for 13 years, (as-like me, my mom was not a great money manager and when she received her half of the proceeds from the sale of our home in Lakewood, Colorado; she ended up spending all of the money on living expenses and basically life’s little pleasures - so, yes we lived in a small two bedroom apartment for 13 years).
Anyway, when my mom died - I had felt love and closure. Mom had told me (and I am sure both my sisters) that we were the best thing she had ever done in her life. (The words that I have since measured MY LIFE with, almost every day.)
I firmly believe that she died on her own terms. She willed herself to go peacefully as to avoid being any type of burden to Julie and I (even though both of our employers had been extraordinary to work with us to leave little time for her to be without us during any 24 hours). She died on Saturday 21st 1995; in the evening. I have always felt a bit guilty because we weren't "surrounding her" when she slipped into Heavenly Father's loving arms. But, Julie and I were in the front room going through her cherished scrapbooks, pictures and memories; as she lay in the bedroom unconscious since the previous day (When the hospice nurse had visited and told us that she felt strongly that she wouldn't live through the weekend and, to keep in mind that "tears were goof for the complexion"). I had called my friend from when I had been attending the local singles ward, who had her new husband and another priesthood holder come Friday the 20th to give mom a blessing. She was unmoving, but my friends husband swore that she opened her eyes and smiled slightly just after they administered to her. We had a 'boom box' playing big band music; (actually Barry Manilow's Big Band tape) and as I sat on the mustard yellow 1970's shag carpet in the doorway of our apartment looking through pictures; my cat Buffy (while sitting on the old painted bentwood ice cream chair in front of me); looked down the hallway that lead to the bedroom where my mom lay in the hospital bed. I got up from the floor to check on mom, and stopped at the doorway, as I could tell that even though the oxygen tubes were still making that horrendous noise, mom had slipped away. I called for Julie and we both went to her bedside, as I am confident she had just died. Her hands were still warm, though her spirit was certainly void from her body, it embraced Julie and I as our tears cleansed our complexions. It was as close to God as I have ever been.

So, my mom finally succeeded in bringing her little "black sheep" to the face of God in her presence. (Though, since that time I have lost my way many many times, I still hold the Lord close to my heart).

Wow....I sure got on a tangent, but I am glad that I did. I am out of time for now; but I'll get the rest out of this brain sometime soon in a separate blog. All my love.