26 years ago you became a mother again. Only a short 20 months after you became a mom for the first time. You’ve told me time and time again about how I was born on a Friday. The 13th. Even on a full moon. Did you think it was bad luck? Or did it become a lucky number for you that year? This year was your 27th Mother’s Day. And it has been almost a year since I have seen your face. I have seen photographs that made me wish things were different. But they aren’t, mom, and that makes me sad.
I don’t remember much from when I was very little. I don’t remember much from when things were good. But the few memories I can recall I hold closely to my heart so that I never forget. I wish there was more for me to hold on to, and I am unsure and frustrated that I can’t remember. I can’t remember you picking me up from school or finding you in the bleachers at my softball games. I can’t remember the trips we took across the country or even simple things like what our life was like at home. And my heart is sad. I want to remember those things. I want to be able to look back and remember the time before my world was filled with so much sadness and hurt and confusion.
I don’t know why things had to play out like they did. I feel like all this shit just exploded in our lives and we were all caught in the crossfire. Casualties of war. Beaten and mangled, bleeding out – all looking to each other for rescue. Most times I feel like we all just kept yelling and screaming at each other for spilling their blood on us. I can’t rescue you mom. And I have since learned that no matter how much I wish you could, you can’t rescue me either. Maybe that’s why we all keep tripping over each other. We both have expectations that neither of us can meet.
So, mom, this is me laying down my expectations. I can’t promise that I won’t at some point be tempted to pick them up again, but I do promise that I am trying. I realize that you are just not capable of some of the things I wish you were and I hope that you’ll be able to see that I am not capable of some things too. I hate what has become of us. And while I don’t have a lot of hope right now that things will magically get better, I do have hope that it is possible to have hope for those things. So, with that hope of hope, I am laying down my arms. I’m done fighting this war against you when, really, we are both warring against the same darkness…just in different ways.
While things aren’t changing right now, I need you to know that I do love you. I do miss you. Very much. I am so sorry that you were wounded by all of the things that wounded me. And I am sorry that I didn’t offer you more grace and understanding. I still don’t understand and I still like to think that you should be invincible. I know now that you aren’t. And mom, that is so ok. I won’t give up that things can be better. Don’t you give up either, ok? I’m still here, and even though it looks differently right now, I’m still loving you.
not giving up just yet,