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Mom
Hi Mom,
It’s me again. I tried calling a few times last week. I know I’m not allowed to call on Sundays because those are your days.
I just wanted to tell you how i really feel lately. When I do get you on the phone, you rush off because you are tired. I miss you. You are the only one who has known me for my whole life who still has any contact with me. I try to not annoy you, but you’re the last thing that ties me to my childhood.
I don’t know what I did to make it so I was the least favorite. You made comments everyone knew weren’t jokes about Anthony being the favorite. I tried really hard to make you proud. The worst I ever did was refuse to call your husband my stepfather. You tell me it’s because I believe in fairy tales and think step parents are evil. At 30 years old i pointed out that it was actually because he was abusive and has never treated me respectfully. I understand that it’s the story you tell yourself.
I don’t think you and I have the same measures of success. I worked really hard while going to college. I was the first of your children to graduate high school, college, and graduate school. I moved out at 19, the earliest of your children, proving I could be independent; even though you wouldn’t let me take driver’s ed like my other siblings. Someone else taught me to drive when I was 18 and I got my license. I worked full time while going to school, but you forget to mention that part when you talk about what your children have done, only mentioning Anthony working. I was the planner and organizer of the shared custody between you and dad when I was young. Dad bought me a pager so he wouldn’t have to call the house. Do you remember when we all had corded phones and voice mail boxes? And pay phones! I remember those from the mall. I would ask if you’d pick me up but sometimes you’d forget and fall asleep and I’d have to walk home late at night a few miles. It kind of scared me then. I was always so anxious. Did that make me problematic? You always called me a crybaby.
I wish we celebrated my birthday. I know we did a think with the extended family. But I wish we celebrated it as a family. I wish you didn’t give me a card saying you’re sorry but you’re going to bingo instead of spending the evening with us. We were left alone a lot. If Amber watched us- I knew I would be hurt- emotionally or physically. If she wasn’t, that meant I was in charge. The hardest part was trying to find food to eat. Sometimes you left us money so we could walk the several blocks to the Burger King or cross the busy intersection for breadsticks. Anthony got hit by a car when we crossed it. I was so scared. You were at work. I locked myself in the bathroom because I didn’t know what to do. I was still so young. Looking back at it now- I was too young for that responsibility. You got home from the hospital but I don’t remember us talking about it. We never really did talk.
There were years when I wanted to have a relationship with you and you never answered or called me back. When I lived somewhere else for 15 years, you only took the 3.5 hour road trip three times- when I graduated the first time from grad school, my wedding, and when I needed to move to a different apartment after the DV. It made me sad that even though you traveled for work, often through or by the city I lived in, I wasn’t worth the time because, again, you were tired.
You and Amber got close when she had kids. Those kids brought us all a little closer for a few years, until she started using them as pawns to control all of our behavior. I was the first to go no contact. My oldest niece, your granddaughter, is the second. If I had children like I wanted to before my health and stability was taken from me, would we be closer? Would that make you value me more?
I know you tried so hard, Mom. I recognize it and feel emotional every time I think about how you didn’t get the opportunities to pursue your dreams. I think about all of the things you lost. Instead you worked two jobs while trying to make ends meet. I never understood if the second job was to pay the bills or to pay for you to gamble, drink, and smoke. Either way- I understand. Life was hard. Life is hard.
I just wish we could talk sometimes. I tell you that you are my only connection to my past. But you’re tired. I am too. I am too. I want to tell you about my life but I know I only get a few minutes every couple of weeks or so, and you don’t want to hear much from me. But I’m struggling. It was really scary for a lot of years. I lost a lot of people, mom. People you still get to talk to. I wish you defended me when I was a child. And as an adult when I wasn’t there to defend myself.
When I was homeless, these feelings got really intense. I needed someone who I could talk to. I was so scared and hemorrhaging support. You didn’t like to hear about my circumstances. You didn’t want updates. You really never have wanted them. I don’t think I lived up to what you wanted for me. I’m not sure if you ever really had dreams for me.
I won’t ever say this to you. One time you asked me if you were a bad mom. I told you no. I wasn’t lying. I think you did your best. It still hurts, but that is life. You’re not supposed to be perfect. I still have a hard time seeing how my childhood connects to the symptoms I have now. I’m working on it in therapy though.
I miss you. And I love you. I tried really really really hard. I’m sorry if I failed. Maybe you’ll answer the phone next time I call you. I promise it won’t be on a Sunday.
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