Santa Doesn't Come Anymore

Posted by Anonymous.

Christmas is just a little sadder now. Ever since I can remember, Santa came to visit on Christmas Eve at some point after we’d fallen asleep. We’d wake up to a wonderful, magical Christmas morning. I don’t know how old I was when I realized who Santa really was, but that didn’t stop me from believing in Santa. Not at all. Santa was still just as real, only the embodiment of Santa changed. Santa still came every Christmas Eve. This year I’m 37. Santa stopped coming for me a couple years ago. He sort of came the Christmas before last, but last year… Last year he faded away completely. You see, my mom was the best Santa around. She made every Christmas absolutely magical. It didn’t matter that her kids knew Santa wasn’t “real”. Santa kept coming, year after year. Even after we’d left home. Even after I’d married. Even after I had kids of my own. Santa still came for me.

The Santa part of my mom was taken by an insidious evil we call Alzheimer’s. My mom is still here. She’s still my mom and she’s, mostly, the woman she used to be. Mostly. The sending cards part of my mom has been snuffed out. The going out and picking out gifts for loved ones part of my mom has been extinguished. I can only imagine that Santa is in there somewhere. Trapped. Longing to get out and be free and play the role again. But Santa can’t.

At first I thought it was because the focus had shifted to the kids – at least that’s what I wanted to believe. But my kids are six and three. Santa still came for me when they were littler. I realized it wasn’t a decision to retire Santa. Santa was forced out by something much stronger. And with each passing Christmas it becomes more and more apparent that this malicious disease is taking more and more of my mom. Things are different. I wonder if the tree will get put up this year; if she’ll think of it. I wonder if she’ll pull out all the ornaments from years gone by and lovingly hang them from the tree. Or will my dad have to be the one this year to think of putting the tree up? I don’t think he quite realized until now how much my mom really did when it came to occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings. She was the gift-getter. She loved it. Looking for the perfect gift. The look on the faces of the recipients. Now? The task either falls on him – or gets forgotten completely.

I know this post is very sad, and it seems that Christmas has a dark cloud over it now, but I am thankful I still have my mom. And, of course, there are my kids. Santa lives on in the eyes of my children. The wonderment in their eyes is just amazing and I hope I can keep Santa alive for them, even though he’ll change form in their minds through the years, just as my mom did for so long for us.

Questions For My Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

It’s been over six years now since you left this world. I think about you every day. I wonder what you would think about the grandchildren you left behind and the grandchildren who’ve come along since you left us. You definitely loved your grandchildren no doubt. I used to watch in wonderment at the interaction between you and the grandchildren and wonder why you never felt that way about me. It’s amazing how a grandmother’s love can be so different from a mother’s love. It’s also amazing how you as a mother could show your love between your children so differently.

I came to know and love you better as an adult. I could actually understand your actions better after you finally disclosed your sexual abuse as a child by your relatives.

What I don’t understand is why you chose me as your target when I was a kid. Why was I called names and insulted, slapped in the face so often?

Why did people allow you to call me “fat, lazy heifer” instead of my name for weeks on end? Why did the school allow you to send me to school with just a cold hamburger patty and an orange in my lunch box for weeks on end because you thought I was too fat? I look at the pictures of me when I was 8 yrs old and I see a normal sized child. Why were you frequently over feeding me and then either making fun of me or denying food to me? Why didn’t you care that I was humiliated by you every day? Do you think your name calling and insults could have something to do with me being 75 lbs over weight today?

Why were you so violent? Did you enjoy seeing me cry? What about the welts and bruises?

Weren’t you embarrassed for people to see me? I was told that when I learned how to act right, you wouldn’t have to do that to me anymore. Why would a mother ever NEED to make her child bleed or bruise? You could try to make me believe that I deserved whatever punishment you dished out, but when other adults questioned me about who left the marks I knew that it wasn’t right. I knew other kids’ mothers called them by their names and not insulting, hurtful names.
Why did you have to degrade me when I started my period? Why was every new aspect of puberty an excuse to belittle or embarrass me? Why was it my fault when an uncle tried to molest me? I never said I enjoyed being “manhandled” as you accused me. I was 12 years old! Couldn’t you remember when you were molested as a child and no one helped you?

Why did you upturn my room and empty my closet and drawers out onto the bed every time I left the house for years? What were you hoping to find? I was too scared of you to ever drink or do drugs! You would have killed me if you’d ever found anything.

Why would you leave me for days on end with the people who abused you? Did you want me to be abused, too?

Why did you love my sisters and not me? What was wrong with me? Did you have me too soon after the first baby? 20 months apart was just too much for a 22 yr old, I know. But it wasn’t my fault! Why did you have more kids if you didn’t have enough emotional capacity to love them all equally?

Why did the other kids get to take piano lessons and have friends spend the night? Why was it ok for them to go to camp? Why was I ALWAYS on restriction? I remember, my grades! When I got behind in school, did it ever occur to you to help me? You were a college grad, you could have helped a 3rd grader with math homework before it got so bad that I got so discouraged that I could never recover. But, no, your solution was to put me on 3 months TV restriction, until the next report card. Did you honestly think that would help me understand multiplication and fractions?

When high school came around, why did you discourage me from going to college? Why did you refuse to help with filling out financial aid and application forms? When I told someone my dream of being a physician’s assistant, why did you laugh and tell everyone, “She’ll never make it”? Why did you make it easy for my sisters to go to college and refuse to help me?

What was so different or unlovable about me? Why was I your target? I think I could have peace in my life if I just understood your reasons and motivations. Unfortunately it’s too late now. I’ll never understand or get the answers I crave. I do try to look ahead and be the best mother to my children that I can be.

My Lovely Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

My lovely mother.
My lovely mother that 'taught me all i know'
My lovely mother who today, after i told her that my best friend went to my work to get ice cream, told me that she was worried that my employer would like my best friend better and hire her instead.
My lovely mother that complains day and night about all the laundry i cause her to do (which is a small amount mind you) and when i offer to do it all "no! you'll blow up my washer! you're too stupid to do it!" is the response i get from the couch shes 'resting' on.
My lovely mother whom supports me in nothing i do.
My lovely mother who when a guy doesn't call back immediately she makes 'a HILARIOUS' joke that maybe hes with his other prettier girlfriend.
My lovely mother who claims that i treat her like shit, when all i do is listen to her complaints about friends, family, work, and especially me.
My lovely mother whom as i sit, minding my own, yells at me to 'stop doing ..blank...!!!" something i'm not remotely even near executing.
My lovely mother who says " i don't care if your husband and all your guests at your wedding eat meat! i am not paying for anything if there is meat any where near that wedding!'
My lovely mother who forces vegetarianism and her religion on me.
My lovely mother who says constantly "you're eating agaaaain?" when i am the perfect weight for my age and height.
My lovely mother who takes more pride, and spends more money on her kindergarten students, but complains about spending money on shampoo for her daughter.
My lovely mother who took a pair of chop sticks i painstakingly painted by hand and used them as a back scratcher.
My lovely mother who critiques my artwork claiming "she has ideas that would make it better!"
My lovely mother who has the power to make me feel like a million dollars, when all i would ask is for her to make me feel like 10 dollars, makes me feel like an expired coupon.
My mother... my LOVELY mother.

A Letter To Me

Posted by Connie.

To Me, present and future...

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this blog, but I can't figure it out, so if it sounds more like a rant and less like a well-composed intelligent thought, thats why.

In my life, I have always had a problem. What is that problem you ask? Well, to put it simply, I give people too many chances. I always lived my life believing that no matter what, people had GOOD somewhere in them, and that everyone deserved the opportunity to show that. So, when someone hurt me, I would let them go for a little while, only to let them back in the minute they came back around. I always thought that I was doing a good thing, but in reality, I was only hurting myself more. It was like I was telling myself that I didn't deserve to be treated right the first time, and that it was OK for me to accept only second best. In the last year, I have made alot of changes in that department. I have let go of alot of people who really just weren't good for me. It was hard, but I did it, knowing that the people that I still have care enough about me to make up for that absence. I have done this successfully with one exception: my mother. As (more than one person) pointed out to me, it's like I am a drug addict. No matter how crappy she makes me feel about myself, my life, and the people who love me, I keep going back for that "momentary high" that I get when she gives me even an ounce of praise. The problem I have come to realize is that its all an illusion. That praise is given with strings attached; with conditions. If I don't fulfill those conditions, it comes back ten-fold in the form of insults, hatred, and just plain meanness. No matter what, though, I always went back. Not only did this hurt me, this hurt the people around me who were finally starting to trust and care about me. This ONE relationship was tearing down all of my other ones. Not anymore.

The purpose of this blog is mostly for me. In the case that I couldnt get a hold of someone like J, M, or K in a weak moment, I can read this to remind myself why I left in the first place. Some of you might wonder "Is it really that bad?" The answer is yes, and so much worse. It would take a lifetime to detail the 22 years of hurt that has been laid upon me; for now, I will use this blog to remind myself of the ones that stick out the most.

When I was 8 years old, my mom took me and my brother to a 60s dance at the elementary school. Back then, I had a "boyfriend" named chris; he was my "boyfriend" because we were 8 and we sat next to each other in school for 3 years, LOL, and he invited me to his birthday party and told his mom I was his girlfriend. Anyway, at the dance, my mom was being a spoilsport, I remember, and I started dancing with Chris' mom. Apparently, this made my mother feel very jealous, and at the end of the night she told me that everyone probably thought that Chris' mom was really my mom because we were both so fat.

I have never been a skinny person. I have always been overweight. Don't worry though, because I never forgot that either. My mother made sure of that. She can say that it was "because she cared" all she wants to, but there is caring, and then there is purposely making someone feel bad about themselves. When I was 10 years old, I couldnt find an outfit to wear to church with my friend. I was upset about this, I remember, and instead of comforting me, my mother told me that "If I wasn't such a damn whale, I would be able to find something to wear". Thats hurtful at any age; imagine what it does when you are 10.

All throughout middle school and high school, I was terrified of getting bad grades. My mother actually thinks this is a good thing, like well at least you would never bring a bad grade home, but I on the other hand, know differently. Yes, I liked to get good grades, and yes I was a good student, but anytime I even brought home a bad progress report or report card (and when I say bad, I mean I got one C out of an entire semester), my mother would lay into me in her passive aggressive way. "Oh sure, a C is fine. A C means average, so as long as you are OK with being AVERAGE than thats great."

While I was living at home with my mother, after highschool and during college, I was working part time, sometimes full time, and going to school full time, commuting even, so my days were long and I never really had a break. I will admit it, when I got home, I was exhausted, completely, and all I really wanted to do was be able to enjoy what little time I did have open by spending it with my friends and, when the time came, my boyfriend. My mom got mad at me because I didnt help to clean up around the house enough. I wouldnt vacuum, I wouldnt do the dishes, trust me if u asked her the list would go on and on. I am not denying that I didnt do much housework, I didnt. It was not because I was lazy, however, it was because I was SO DAMN BUSY. At that point, my mother wasnt even working. SO basically, she stayed home all day and never did anything except play on her computer, yet when Kayla got home from school, I got home, or Marty got home, all from very long days, WE were supposed to do all of the work. Once in a while is fine, ALWAYS is just ridiculous. My mother had the nerve to tell me that having me in the house was like living with an extremely rude roommate. Why? Because I didn't clean up a mess that I didnt make? I barely ate at home, barely spent my time there, and when I was there she was also making me feel like crap. This went on for years and years and that feeling that she made me feel, that I was basically garbage, will never go away.

This one is a sensitive topic, but one of the BEST ways to remind myself just why its best for me to stay away. When I FINALLY confessed to my mother that my brother had molested me for 9 years, she barely batted an eyelash. She gave the standard "oh really, im sorry" blah blah excuse, but she NEVER wanted to talk about it. Talking about it is what I really needed, and she just wouldnt. Even worse, after I told her this, she was still going out of her way to communicate with him, making sure he was ok wherever he was at, not making stupid decisions, worried when he started acting crazy, etc etc. And she would ask me about him and if I had heard from him, no matter how many times I told her I didnt want to hear about him at all. I remember crying on the phone with my friend while I was at work after my mom had called me and freaked out about Bobby. I was so upset that she just didnt seem to care about what I was feeling. I understand that Bobby is her kid and she will always worry. What I didn't understand was why she had to act like she was SO concerned with him, so worried about him, when she never acted that way towards me. I felt like no matter what, I would always just not be good enough for her.

And finally, the most recent BIG THING I guess, even though there are thousands of others. In February, I had to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. And by emergency, I mean ambulanced out of work during a 3 foot snow storm emergency. James drove from Fairfax to Woodbridge in his truck with horrible traction, in the snow, to be by my side. He was there with me for 9 hrs, and drove me to CVS after, got my prescriptions, drove me home, etc etc. He was there taking care of me and making sure I was ok the WHOLE time. The next day, I called my mom. I was upset because I did not have insurance, and the surgeons deposit was going to cost me 1500. I didnt have this; I wasnt using my credit cards and I didnt have any in savings. I didnt want to, but I asked my mother for help. Yes, she helped me out and for that I am very thankful, but it didnt come without cost. First, she told me that this was all my fault; that it was from the way I lived my life. Then, when I told her that I might need her to drive me to the hospital on the day of my surgery because James wasn't sure he would be able to get the day off, she insulted him and made me feel bad at the same time. She said, and I quote "What good is it to have a boyfriend who lives near you if he can't take care of you?". Im sorry, but what a horrible fucking thing to say to your daughter. My boyfriend had spent the last 9 hrs in the ER with me, by my side, holding my hand, etc. SHE didnt even come to the ER. (And by the way, James took off work and took me to the surgery, my mother never even came.) Jean, (the lady I live with) drove me to the pre-op appt. So yes, my mother gave me her money. I guess that meant she didnt have to give her time.

Like I said, this probably didn't sound like the most put together thing in the whole world, but I felt the need to get it out of me, to put it in writing so that I would be able to come back to it. There are people in my life that care about me; people who are GOOD for me. Its unfortunate that my mother isnt one of them, but at this point, it doesnt even matter. I just need to remember to call them first.

Ce La Vie

To My Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Mother’s Day was filled with Facebook statuses and blog posts about the joy of Motherhood. Most also included special sentiments about the author’s relationship with her own mother, and each time I read one, I scowled like a child.

Let’s face it- you were absent for most, if not all, of my childhood. Yes Mom, I realize
you were always there, in the house. Always commenting about laundry and about how
I will need to tell people about all you do when I get older. Always there, drinking out of glass bottles, because “drinking out of cans is low class.” Always there, locked in your room, smoking marijuana because it helped you to “be creative”. Always there, because you never left the house except for a short walk across the street to buy cigarettes.

The excuses I would make for you were varied and creative- you had seasonal affective
disorder or that you were bipolar (because these had come up on television, and that
seemed to fit at times). You couldn’t come to my concerts because you were afraid of
crowds. You couldn’t come to my younger brothers’ Open Houses at school because you
were sick (an excuse used so often that teachers barely blinked at a 14 year-old showing
up to collect her brother’s special projects). You missed soccer practices and baseball
games. But as I recall, you never missed a nap. Should we happen to wake you up from
one, we knew to run and hide.

As I got older, I was willing to blame the alcohol. It was alcohol that you brought with
you, practically kicking and screaming, to my little brother’s wedding that you tried so
hard to get out of. It was a six pack that you cracked open within 20 minutes of meeting
my daughter, you first grandchild, that you refused to hold as you cradled you can of
Natural Ice (now long past the need for elegant bottles). If you could just get sober, then you could be the mother I wanted, the mother I longed for, the fictional mother, who at the very least could teach me how to apply make-up and could give me advice as three months of colic with my second child wore on and on.

But Mom, you’ve been surprisingly sober for three years, and still that mother has yet to
make an appearance. In fact, in a fun twist of events, after 1 year of sobriety that we as a family had fought so hard for, you left my ever forgiving father for a woman you met on the internet (“Oh please, it’s not a big deal. It’s been on Oprah.”). Suddenly you can drive on I-95, where you were too scared to do it before, thus missing my graduation for my Master’s degree. Suddenly you can fly- but only to Arizona with your girlfriend… not to NY to see your third grandchild.

I go for weeks without hearing from you. It’s like a game. How many days will go
by before you realize you haven’t heard from me, and you can rush to the phone and
apologize? Only you never do, because I give up and call you around day 14. And
your conversations always revolve around how this world has done you wrong; how
much you actually hate your girlfriend; how much you hate having to take care of my
grandmother as she slips deeper into dementia. How much you wish my father would
take you back. How bitter you are that my brother doesn’t speak to you and how it is his fault because obviously it is a “lesbian thing.” (For the record, he wasn’t speaking to you for 6 months before your coming out, but you didn’t notice.) How you are going to call J.G. Wentworth and fight for the rest of your divorce settlement because you and your dogs can’t stand living with my grandparents one more day. And I let you talk, because I don’t know what else to do.

This weekend, for Mother’s Day, we came out to the house to have Mother’s Day
with you and Nana. We ripped out weeds in the garden as you talked away on your
cell phone, upstairs away from your daughter and grandchildren. We planted flowers
while you puffed like a chimney on the back porch. We went out to lunch while you
drove to the Comcast building to replace your cable box, which apparently could
only be done right at that moment. We had a great time with Nana, who is more of a
grandmother to my daughters than you will ever be, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.

So yesterday I struggled with whether or not to call you on Mother’s Day. I had come to the firm resolution that I would not, since I seem to mean so little to you. But in the late afternoon, I wavered, holding out still for that mother who may just show up one of these days. And I called that cell phone that never leaves your side for a second. And it rang and rang. I left a message. You have yet to call back.

So thanks Mom, for the blank slate you have given me on this journey into motherhood. Thanks for the advice you never offer. Thanks for giving me a clear path to make my own mistakes and the resolve to never repeat yours. I may not know how to be a mom, but I know how not to be one. My life is dedicated to being the best mother to my daughters that I can be, if only because I know how hard it is to find a Mother’s Day card that does not include any “great mom!” or “loving” sentiments. They deserve more than that, and so do I.

So Mom Is Dying And You Are Not

Posted by Anonymous.

My mother is dying. Slowly, but perceptibly. Fading out, like a blurry xerox, her features sinking inward and melting toward one another. And for the 9 months this has been happening, I have wished it were you, Daddy.

Because Daddy, she showed up. She was there for every lost tooth, every prom, every school play, every nightmare, every spilled juice, every outgrown shoe. It wasn't pretty. She yelled. She was so tired she fell into bed every night. She wasn't good at comforting me. But she was always there, like a rock, a tired, jagged, sometimes cold, but always firmly and absolutely present rock. And you? You missed it all. You were drinking, and then trying not to drink, and then piecing together the ravages of a self from what was left after you stopped drinking, and then you floated off into some kind of oblivion I still don't understand. I played the part you needed me to play: loving and uncomprehending little girl, forgiving adult. But when the diagnosis came in, when they told us what it was and we realized what it meant, all I could do was hate that it wasn't you. Because when she is gone, I will be an orphan. Only you won't know it, and I will have to go through the motions of comforting you about the fact that there's really nothing you can do for me anymore, make up things for you to do so you can feel like a dad after missing it all in the first place.

Mom and I, we had plans. She had bought a house. She was going to move near me, be a grandma, see my kid grow up, be there for her. For the lost teeth and the outgrown shoes and the school plays. That's all gone up in -- not a a puff of smoke, but a steady stream of twisted cells multiplying silently. So she'll go, and my kid won't remember her, and we'll have a photo or two of you, the grandpa she's hardly met, and at some point I will say to her, it's OK, honey, I hardly met him either. But your grandma? She loved you to pieces. She was there when you were born and she held you and rocked you and did your laundry and laughed with me about how stupid cloth diapers were, and she bought you your first clothes and your swim lessons and all your shoes till she died, and she put money away for college. She loved you. She was there for you. She hated not being able to see you grow up more than anything.

And Daddy, you'll never know any of us.

Too Much Motherly Love

Posted by Anonymous.

It all started about 3 years ago. I was in a rocky "relationship" if you will and my mind had started to wander. There was this boy. He was 22 and I was 18. He worked at the same place as my mother. He was her manager, so she knew him fairly well.

One day, my mother and I went in to her work to get her check and I was introduced to him. He was handsome, and funny. My mother stood and talked to him for a few minutes and I occasionally threw in a witty comment with which he would reply with a smile.

From there on out, the flirting got more intense. I started finding excuses to go into his work when I knew he would be there. We asked each other questions about past relationships and what we looked for in other people. Eventually, he wanted to see me, outside of work. I knew it was a sticky situation to be in because of my current boyfriend but I was intrigued so I agreed.

I ended up breaking up with my boyfriend before this other boy and I hung out. We went to a local amusement park and spent the day there. Before I went home, we exchanged our first kiss and he asked to be my boyfriend. I accepted the offer.

My mother was NOT happy. She had every excuse in the good book as to why I shouldn't be dating her manager and this that and the other thing. I secretly though she might have had a thing for him because of the way she acted around him and past remarks she had made about him but I never said anything. Eventually everything blew over and our relationship continued with no problem. She grew accustomed and even encouraged it.

We have been dating for almost 3 years now and he lives with my family and I. I know they text message frequently as well as go to the gym together every day. I have always in the back of my head sort of suspected something, like I said before, but I always pushed it to the back of my mind. He loved me. She was my mother. End of story.

Last night he left his cell phone in my car and my curiosity got the best of me. I know it was wrong, but there was something in my head telling me there was something I needed to see. I started to go through his text messages and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I figured I'd read some of my mother's text messages because they do talk a lot, and what could they POSSIBLY have to say? She's 40, he's 25.

Anyways, long story almost short... I shouldn't have looked. There were suggestive texts from HER to him about outfits and hotels and surprises on the way to the gym. Texts about being dirty with no interruptions. REPLIES from him egging her on. I was sick to my stomach. I couldn't read anymore. I drove home, stormed in the house and confronted the two of them. They both insist it's a joke and there was never anything done. They make me feel like I AM CRAZY and shouldn't be upset. My mother tells me I shouldn't throw away my relationship over silly jokes. I know what I read though. I know what I saw. I don't feel it's right for a mother to be talking like that to her daughter's boyfriend. I love him and I saw forever in him. He was good to me, but I feel like this is something I just CAN'T get past. I guess the whole point of this is, does everyone else think I'm wrong too? I should leave him, right? I can't be the only one in the world who feels this way. It hurts and I don't know what to do.

-Anonymous

Waiting On My Thirty Pieces Of Silver

Posted by Leslie, Daniel's Mom.

Ante-script: My mother has early onset dementia. She is not yet 70 years old and her deterioration is fast, quiet, harsh, and ceaseless. Suicide is very rare among patients with this type of dementia (mostly because they haven’t the ability to plan and process the act) but we have a strong family history—her own father, in fact. Today my father took a gun out of her hand but I can't speak to how or why it was there. I am not there. I can’t be there. I am far away with three children—one is Daniel, my little piece of God. My sister is there, but for reasons never given, she wants nothing from me—I “breeze in” for visits. (Anybody else “breeze” anywhere with a special needs kid? Did I miss that workshop?) Anyway, this piece is almost a year old (2/09)—she visited us back then with the fully disclosed understanding that I would submit my observations to her doctor. Truly, as much as mothers watch our babies change in a year, so has this daughter watched her mother change, only in a backwards dying way. I will need to write on this again, so background information seemed only fair enough to offer.

I submitted my super (and completely un-) secret documentation of mom's visit to her doctor as directed. Or, rather, I emailed it to my dad and he submitted it because I just couldn't send all that crap directly to a stranger.

You see, I told on my mother. Laid out her secrets, one by one, day by day. I kissed her on both cheeks and now they will surely come for her.

It would appear that my mother is only able to function as a result of my father's constant vigilance and well-honed sense of I-Know-What's-Rightiness. It would appear that way because without my father, she is just simply un-able. Unable to what? Well, it's all right there in the document, and frankly, you should probably be on the lookout for a copy because my father is forwarding it around like one of those 'This is Cute' emails. And this, this horrid thing that is scraping my mother away from the inside out, is not cute at all.
She's been gone a week today and my anger is becoming soft and grief-y. Well, you would be angry too (maybe) if you had to hide food and tape containers shut and guard your kids' snacks and wonder why the autistic kid keeps bringing his empty snack bowl back for more crackers(vocab: perseverity/eating disorder--elderly onset) and double check the doors and gates left open and listen to endless lies (vocab: confabulation) and accusations that your Daniel stole her watch. And you would especially maybe be mad if you, somewhere in the back of your head, thought that When Mama Comes It Will Get Better. It was not better. It was her making kids cry at the twins’ birthday party because she wanted to Huuuuuuuug them. Like a very scary Grandma Clown. It was her ignoring her beautiful grandchildren unless they were packing graham crackers (vocab: apathy). It was her describing her father's death (suicide by gunshot, btw) to your children in lurid detail while you did everything but gag her to stop it (vocab: comportment and insight, executive skills). God save me, it was her wanting to pray over Daniel so that he might be healed. Healed. (See prev. entries regarding how he's glorious and I am a mess) I could not bear for Daniel to hear what she might say during this over-praying thing(No vocab for that, but boy, it pissed me off something fierce). It was her no longer able call a light a light or a bowl a bowl (vocab: agnosia).

It was her no long able to be her. I know that. I do

And here's the thing: For all that I did what was asked of me, for all that I checked and double checked and worded and reworded to drain every last drop of drama from it, for all that I swear up and down before you and God that yes, it sounds crazy, but yes, it did all happen, and finally for all that I only did it so that she might be treated and thus be Grandma, for all that, I ratted her out. Betrayed her. She is livid and bewildered (when she’s not talking about what a great visit we had). Her doctor is, as my dad says, "pretty shaken." Great. Just Great. I would like to speak to a manager please. Surely, there is someone in charge.

And also, can I get directions to the nearest Potter's Field on Mapquest?

But you must understand, I knew her when she was. When she was giving me her wedding dress as my own. When she was giving my biggest boy his first bath because I was bloody terrified of that red wailing wiggler. When she assured me that "twins are a good thing" and "we'll get through it." When she called me at the NICU when Fuzzy was intubated (5 years ago today). When she cooked and cleaned and ironed and yelled at me to "keep nursing and they'll be okay." All of these years before the first shadow and pall of autism—The mother of all “I want my mommy” screams. All this before that. And these, you see, are just the tip of the was's. Just the ones out in front in this one tiny bit of scribble. There are so many--God, how I do wish that had been my task, handling the was's and not the is's. Because then you would laugh and nod and think to yourself, "Oh, Daniel’s Mama’s mama, she was something else, that is for sure."

And she was.

Dear Mother

Posted by Anonymous.

Dear Mother,

I am furious at you, and at the same time, have the urge to hold you until it's all better. Our relationship is over because of you and your mental illness. You need help. But I can't help you. None of us can anymore. It is time to help yourself. For the sake of our family, and most of all, for yourself.

I am slowly realizing that I will never be your child. Never be held close, never be comforted, never be allowed to be the weak one. Because you believe it is your right to have these things, even though you are my mother. You should have mothered me and asked for nothing in return. I am so angry that you would choose to adopt a child when you couldn't manage to care for my brother who had already been given to you by grace. To say that you feel your own son is a disappointment to you is shameful, because you created him that way. You raised him that way. And he still loves you. How? I don't know. Why adopt a child you can't care for? I would never say it to you, or perhaps to anyone face-to-face, but there are many times I have wished another family had the chance to adopt me, and not you. The lies you must have created, and the people you must have manipulated, so that you could adopt me, is a shameful part of you I just can't understand. One day you may be able to face the truth about yourself: that some things are entirely your fault, you caused them, and you deserve the outcome of your behaviour.

I am sad that now you will miss the birth of my second child. But what choice is there? You have tortured our family over the past 12 months with your pathetic attempts at seeking justice for your abusive childhood, and taking it out on your family who has, up until now, stood by you. You wonder why people have left you now? Because the truth is my father was holding it all together for you. He spent 30 years making excuses for you, covering up for you, and lying to protect you. And now that you have pushed him away, and are on your own, you can't cope. Surprise!

I have thought many times over the past few months that it would be easier if you had died than become estranged to us. It would be easier to grieve for you, and all that you never were to me, than it is to know you are just a short drive away, and dreading the next contact you might make with me.

I wanted a mother who was wise, tolerant, strong, educated, patient and could teach me how to be a great mother to my own children. But you can't do it. I have to teach myself, and learn from other strong, wonderful women in my life, how to go about it. I am determined to give my children all of myself, but unlike you, I plan to also protect them from the problems of adults around them, because they are CHILDREN. And not my counsellors, social workers, doctors or friends.

Please, please get the help you need. Even if we never see you again- just for yourself and to be healed from the pain you are suffering. I hope the people in your life who have hurt you so badly will one day say sorry to you. And mean it. But for now, please stay away from me, and contact me when you are ready to admit responsibility for what you have done. Yes, much of this is your fault. And it is time to take control.

I wish I had the courage to tell you this myself, and I wish that you were able to respond in the way that is needed. But we can't.

All my love.

Anonymous

Living With The Hurt

Posted by Anonymous.

You hurt me and the hurt has not gone away. I can't seem to push it down or pull it out of my mind. You, my "mother" for more years than my real mother was able to spend with me, lied about me. It was several years ago that you sent out a vicious email in response to an innocent question from me. The saying "ripped me a new one" came alive for me as I read your diatribe. I felt physically ill. I felt a deep rage. I go for months without thinking of it and then it pops up in my head. It still can make me sick to my stomach.

You, you go on later as though you are the kindly Christian woman you'd like all of us to believe you are... no apology because you are right no matter how horribly you act. You think you deserve an apology. I won't give it. I go along with your stupid game only for the sake of my siblings and my poor Alzheimer's father. Without them you would have been the recipient of a hard slap and then I would be gone. Forever, never to be hurt by you again.

I don't know where your anger came from exactly but I can be fairly certain it has something to do with the fact I won't kowtow to you. I won't leap to the rescue with every crisis. You don't seem to be able to live without a crisis. You make everything all about you. Someone's mother-in-law dies and you talk endlessly about the guilt you feel for not praying a specific prayer over her. WTF? I am pretty sure that God would have heard your prayer regardless of where you said it. What in the world does that poor woman's death have to do with you?

Everything revolves around your little bank book of pluses and minuses - You did X for me, so I need to let you treat me like shit and be at your beck and call. It took me a long time to realize that no matter what I did it would not be enough. I would never be good enough. Never. And then to wonder why, why would I care? All I wanted after my mother's death was someone to love me and encourage me. Instead I got you. Lucky f**king me.

I try not to hate you because that hate will just hurt me.

Out From Under The Table

Posted by Anonymous.

Many years ago I used to build forts under the kitchen table. It was my safe spot in a home life that was hell. My mother was in an abusive relationship. He was an angry mean drunk. He started abusing me when I was 10. At first the abuse was just physical and then it turned worse. I was dragged from under the table one night and raped. I would be raped again and again for some time until my mother finally got the courage to leave him when I was 13.

This past week my mom went back to that street, that house where her daughter was raped to see it. When I asked why she would want to do that I was met with don't you remember the good memories and from my sister you should concentrate on the good times we had growing up.

My memories of childhood are of a fleeting number of good times but most lets just say I could write a best selling horror novel based on my tween years. After leaving the drunk my mom got involved with men who ran drugs and my mom was a mule into the prison system, what is worse she took me and my sister with her. She never got caught. I have few good memories and those I do have are not of times with her or that house but when my father would come and take us away from it all for a fleeting moment.

I don't think I am crazy when I say why in the hell would you want to visit a place where you almost died and where your child had their childhood stolen from them! I think visiting that place brings back nothing but bad memories at least for me even hearing of her visit I was brought back to that moment when I was dragged from under the table and raped.

Then when I blogged about being a childhood rape survivor my mother and sister got after me and said some things should remain private. Some things should not be talked about. My mother dared to say to me, "What kind of mother will people think I was?" You see, even at her old age she is in a new relationship unfettered by past choices. She doesn't want to acknowledge the hell we lived through and survived. My sister wanted to just bury it.

Me --the survivor-- needs to talk about it and share because maybe just maybe I can help someone else. I did survive and there is life out from the under the table and it needs to be shared and cherished but with that said the past needs to be remembered or it will be repeated and I will not let that happen as long as I have a voice.

What She Said

Posted by Anonymous.

“That’s great, but you are going to have to pay for cheerleading camp on your own” was her response when I told her I made the cheerleading team.

“Why can’t you be like your sister?” was what she said when she came home from a parent teacher conference and was told that I was a “social butterfly”.

“You deserve all of the pain you are going through” was what she said when I cried after giving my daughter up for adoption when I was 16 years old.

“I guess you can't go to church tonight” was her response when I had my stomach pumped.

“Are you on drugs? What is wrong with you” was what she said to me when my ex-husband and I went through a devastating divorce.

“Your children will never experience true blessings unless you have them baptized” was how she replied when I told her my son was being bullied at school.

Why can’t I ever find the words? Why can’t I say… “Isn’t a mom supposed to love her child unconditionally? Aren’t Mom’s here to celebrate with us when we have a moment of joy, and cry with us in times of sorrow?”

How do I move on from this? How do I forgive and let go when it continues? How do I fill the awkward silences, after her words have hurt me and I can’t find the strength to respond?

I would give anything to feel her arms around me and her voice telling me that I am good enough, to hear her say that I am a good mom and a good wife.

And that she is sorry.

For Him

Posted by Anonymous.

I'm 20. I'm a full time student, training to be a teacher, working part time as a tutor. I'm living at home with my parents since it works out better for me financially, and my parents enjoy having a babysitter/chief cook and bottle washer, and I think it's a pretty low price to pay considering I live here rent and bill free.

Well. It was, until recently.

It is my mother's second marriage, and he is my step father. I have known him since I was 2, and I call him 'Dad'. I would call him my father. I noticed when they argued, but it didn't happen often. My mum had a few friends from her time at university and saw them occassionally - but since my dad got us to move when she graduated, she very rarely got to see them. My dad had no friends, and never went out at all unless it was with us, or to go to work. My mother was stuck in a new area, with no means of transport, two children under the age of 10 (myself and my older brother) and a newborn baby (my little brother, J) and a husband who refused to take her to meet people or show her around the area. At the time, she dealt with it because she knew leaving with a newborn in a new city and two school aged children was impossible. And of course, they'd just got married so there was a chance of it improving.

It never did.

Things limped on. My dad had some debts that she knew of, from before they'd met, but he refused to let her see the bank statements. One day she'd had enough, took the statements and had a confrontation. He owed (owes) an obscene amount of money. That will take the rest of his life to pay off. And he had continued spending, booking holidays, getting new credit cards to cover costs. The marriage fell apart.

And since then, it's been hell. He is insanely jealous that she has joined a gym, got fit, and made new friends and that she now goes out several nights a week. He waits up, looking out of the window, waiting to see who will give her a lift home. He constantly interrogates her about where she is going and who with and why and to do what and why is she wearing that and when did she buy that and when will she be home and how will she get home and who will drive her home. She has told him, multiple times, that she wants a divorce, that it cannot carry on, that she no longer loves him and that he needs to move out. But legally, it is half his house. She cannot make him move. And he refuses.

More than once he has just decided on a whim at the very last minute to go out to a bar, and only tells us by leaving a message on the answerphone. This happened once after my mother had already left to go for a run, expecting him home and leaving me to babysit, when he left a message. I was forced to give up my plans for the evening because I couldn't get in touch with either of them and couldn't leave my brother on his own (he has a serious heart condition which means he needs someone in the house with him at all times and regular medication). Not only that, but his beta blockers (which I can't give, since I don't know the quantities) ended up being an hour late - which could be life threatening. Because my dad was trying to stop my mother going out. He has also refused to go and pick up the beta blockers from the chemist when we'd nearly run out because, "Why should I always do it", despite the fact that he has always done it when he picks up his own medication for asthma and so on.

She has repeatedly told him not to touch her, that she is only still there because she will not move out of the house and leave my brother. His behaviour is becoming more and more erratic, whether it's from putting my brother's health at risk, or snooping through my mother's underwear drawer and her desk, or spotting my older brother in town and following him for ten minutes without actually saying hello because, "I just wanted to see what he was up to."

Tonight, my mother came home from work and went to get changed. She immediately called me upstairs to show me something. He had bought several sex books ("Foreplay Tips", "How To Please A Woman In Bed") and left them displayed on his bedside table, along with a box of chocolates that said, "GORGEOUS!" on the label. She was, understandably, very freaked out and upset since she has made it extremely clear she does not want him to be near her. She phoned my older brother, who is a police officer, for advice and she's now keeping a log of every inappropriate behaviour he displays. His behaviour isn't erratic enough to get him sectioned, he refuses to admit he is in any way creepy or inappropriate, he will not move out so that divorce proceedings can start properly. In short, he will not do anything that will make anyone's life, including his own, any easier.

My mother has started looking for houses to rent with my older brother, who has said he will move in with her and pay part of the rent. I will go with her, and possibly J, and we will fight for custody. It seems likely that we will get it, since my grandfather (my mother's father) is the one who looks after J most of the time and he has said he will not help my father look after J if there is a divorce because he does not believe he is a fit father.

My mother is feeling intimidated in her own home. My older brother and I are concerned for her well-being. And my heart breaks for my younger brother, who already has so much to deal with.

But sometimes, I just want to be selfish. I am only 20 and I am being more of a parent to J than either of my parents are right now, as well as studying, and working, and attempting to keep my 18 month relationship going. My boyfriend is very supportive (to the point of offering to rent a place and us moving in together just so I can get out of the house), but there are only so many times I can cancel plans, or say, "I'm sorry, I can't see you this week, I need to babysit" without causing tension. I am desperate for a life of my own and the more limited responsibilities of the rest of my friends.

And then I look at J and I remember losing touch with my biological father when I was his age. I remember feeling abandoned, and unloved, and worthless, and how useless must I be for my own parent to not want me. He is tall and gangling, but he is still my little brother, and he needs stability, and for someone to want his company and to laugh at his jokes, and to sometimes make him smile. So when he hugs me goodnight and I can feel his unsteady heart beat, I know that I will make my sacrifices, and I will not move out, and I will help my mother get custody, and if I need to I will live with my father so that J is not on his own. I will do it. For him.

Orphan

Posted by Anonymous.

I feel like an orphan

It started slowly. Somehow the experience of my having children pushed us further apart instead of bringing us together. When I struggled for two years with infertility, you repeatedly told me it must be God's will for me not to have children. But when I got pregnant, you were ecstatic. And then came the sonogram that the baby would be a boy and some of the air went out of your enthusiasm. Still you ran out to buy one of everything to setup for the baby at your house, even though you lived two hours away and we’d never spent a night at your house in my entire married life. And you came when he was born, camping out at our house for two days while I was in the hospital. But you couldn’t respect my choices when they were different from yours. When I struggled with breastfeeding you urged me not to waste my time since you had fed me formula. When my husband decided to go back to school and stay home with our baby, you belittled our choice and his efforts. You destroyed your relationship with my mother-in-law, a woman you’ve called a friend for over twenty years, because anytime you ended up at an event together you had to hog the grandson and pretend he loved you best. You put on a huge phony act about being the world’s greatest grandma when others were around and when left alone, you observed your grandson playing from your chair, rather than deign to interact with him. You stopped calling to check in on me and when I would call to check in on you, our conversations were never more than five minutes before you were trying to get off the phone. It got worse three years later when I told you I was pregnant again. Why would I want to have a second child? You did fine with one. And then you grew hopeful that this baby would be a girl. You became convinced. I still remember the flat tone in your voice when I called to tell you that there would be a second grandson and how quickly you got off the phone. At least you showed up when he was born.

But things have gone seriously downhill from there. When I had gallbladder surgery just five months after baby #2 was born, the woman who drove out in the middle of the night to pick me up from college when I got sick, spent the day packing to go on vacation. Granted it wasn’t emergency surgery, but scheduled a couple weeks ahead. I’m sorry the surgeon couldn’t do it when it was convenient for you, especially since your mother-in-law’s unexpected death (my grandma) had screwed you out of your scheduled vacation the previous year. So my mother-in-law showed up and watched my children and then brought us all home to her house a mile away from yours so that she could help my husband take care of me and the boys while you and dad drove an hour away on vacation and shopped in outlet malls for a week. So please understand why it angered me when you showed up for my husband’s emergency appendectomy the next year - taking precious time off of work – and made the whole day about you and how you almost died years ago when your appendix ruptured. Just what I needed to hear as my beloved was under the knife.Thank God he ended up being fine.

We had managed some repairs to our relationship and you had eagerly expressed a desire (without being asked) to take a week off of work when hubby and I started planning our two week overseas adventure for our ten year anniversary. I was delighted; things were finally turning around with us. I planned our childcare carefully, with mother-in-law taking the other week off to balance things out. And then four weeks out, after we’d paid the last of our non-refundable monies for the trip, you casually mentioned in a conversation that you wouldn’t be able to get out of work after all. In fact you would be unable to help babysit at all because you hadn’t put in for the time off from work and other folks had taken those days. Friends, neighbors and other relatives stepped in to help mother-in-law balance her job and our kids for the entire two weeks. When you heard my son mention to someone months later that he had stayed with mother-in-law while we were gone you quickly corrected him that you had helped out. I’m sorry that at five he forgot how you borrowed them two afternoons and fed them dinner once.

Then there was the phone call a couple of months ago when your sister died unexpectedly and you told your whole family that I’d be glad to officiate the funeral on a certain date without asking me. Nevermind that you scheduled her funeral for my birthday, it was four days before I was moving with two kids and both hubby and I were changing jobs. And when I had the gall to say no, that date didn’t work for me and offered up three other dates as alternatives (since she was being cremated), you tried all kinds of guilt and manipulation and crying before hanging up on me. And bless you for having father call me back later and pretend he cared before laying on more guilt. And that line about how ungrateful I am and how I would have dropped everything and done a funeral for husband’s family if they needed something was just the icing on the cake. My aunt wanted me to officiate at her funeral and would never have approved of your tactics, and I’m angry that you went ahead and held it without me, telling my cousins that I was too busy to be bothered. I do appreciate that you at least called to acknowledge my birthday and I know I sent a thank you for the birthday check I received in the mail.

Two weeks ago I needed surgery again, a biopsy to check for breast cancer, the disease you successfully fought off nine years ago. I was scared because I've had a lump before and know that our family history of cancer only heightens my risk. But this time I was smart. I decided not to get my hopes up that you would be there. I knew that you were already taking the week prior off of work to entertain company for your birthday and catch up on errands and dr visits. So we made plans to have mother-in-law show up and care for the grandchildren. When you politely inquired the night before if we needed you, we told you not to worry that we had everything under control. Imagine our surprise when you showed up at the hospital as we were leaving because you had called mother-in-law’s cellphone and realized she was in town. Sorry father let the cat out of the bag later - apparently you had arranged to take the day off of work and told them that you were coming to take care of me; yet you had intended to spend the day at home relaxing from all the company you had entertained the week before. I certainly didn't mean to ruin your day off. Mother-in-law went home after you showed up because she didn’t want to intrude. Only she didn’t realize that you would take off before I actually needed you. You sat around all day and watched me sleep and then packed up to go home leaving me groggy and nauseated alone with two kids after hubby had to go in to work for two hours. Since my surgery I have heard from you exactly one time when I called to tell you my pathology report was clear and I am fine.

Most days I feel like an orphan. I have no parents unless you need to whine about your life, or need me to do something or want to drag out your grandchildren for some special occasion to show off to your friends. You always lamented the relationship you had with your mother - a constant tug of war - and swore that you would never treat me like that, that you would be different. And you were right. You have become very different. You hardly bother with me at all.

Home Is Where The Hotel Is?

Posted by Anonymous.

I live in Florida. My daughters live in Florida. My grandchildren live in Florida.

My mom and my sister and my extended childhood family live in Michigan.

I subscribe to several airline emails to watch for good deals on airline tickets from Florida to Michigan.

So when I saw $19 tickets in January for flights in May, I snapped them up.

You see, I think I'm doing a good thing to buy a ticket for each of us to come home to see you. It's not like I didn't just show up on your doorstep and say 'here we are!'. I told you in January that I was coming home for 4 days in May. I gave you plenty of notice.

In reality, the $19 tickets cost me considerably more than $19. I had to pay for seats to be assigned (times 7!) and to pay for luggage. Unfortunately I didn't know that when I bought the tickets.

We love being at your house. Hanging in the back yard. No schedules to keep, no place to go but across town to visit more family. A trip to the cemetery to pay respects that I can't pay the rest of the year.

And then, two weeks before we were going to be there, you dropped the bomb on me that we couldn't stay at your house. WHAT? We've always stayed at your house!!

You said we were too many, too noisy, too confusing, too many people for one bathroom. We were willing to sleep on the floor and the blow up bed and the couch. All of us have stayed there before and the bathroom was never an issue. Shoot, 3 of the kids don't even use the bathroom!

And mom said, "You can't expect to just come home and have accommodations."

Well for starters, five months notice does not qualify as 'just'. And well, yes, as a matter of fact, that's exactly what I expect.

Mom said we'd have to split up and stay different places. So .. what .. we farm out the three year old? The two year old? The baby? No. That doesn't work.

You said groceries were difficult and cooking and cleaning was too much. Since when? I have never come up there that I didn't go immediately to the grocery store and drop a hundred bucks on groceries. We help with the cooking. We help with the cleaning. Not a meal goes by that my hands are not in dishwater washing dishes.

I really don't get this. All of a sudden ... we're not welcome???

You see, I am paying out my hard earned money to bring the family home so you can see them and they can see you. To foster a relationship between you and them. So you can see your namesake for the first time. Because we love you. We only come home once a year. Four days out of one year. But, no, that was too much hassle for you.

So ......... we didn't. We flew into the airport, rented a car and drove around the state like tourists. We went to the water park and other places my family has never been to before because .... we always came to your house. We stayed in motels and ate in restaurants. Oh, and the motels, still 7 of us ....... and only one bathroom. And never any problems. And trust me ........ I paid dearly. I paid for the car, most of the hotel rooms, most of the meals because they are broke and barely getting by.

Then one of the aunts stepped up and said you can stay overnight at my house. So we took her up on that. We slept on the floor, the couch and a blow up bed. Nine people in that house with ......... you guessed it ....... only one bathroom. We offered to buy groceries and they said they wanted to cook us dinner. We all ate around the table and had a good time. They enjoyed getting to know our little ones, and we enjoyed our time with them.

Oh, we made it to your house for a few hours on the last afternoon. But by then, the damage was already done. We weren't comfortable with you ... and you weren't comfortable with us.

And we heard afterwards that you complained about us being in the state for so long and only getting to see us for a little while.

Well you know what? You can't have it both ways.

And now, occasionally, you say things about the 'next time we are home'. Don't count on it. I have no plans to do so. If we are going to take a family vacation and stay in motels and eat at restaurants, we'll be going someplace else next year.

In case you haven't figured it out ....... things have changed.

I suggest you subscribe to airline emails and start watching for a Michigan to Florida ticket. And you won't have to worry about accommodations .... because, unlike you, I would make room regardless of what it took. You'd have a place to sleep if I had to give you my bed. That's where we're different.

I'm glad we're different.

Her

Posted by Anonymous.


I have something on my mind that I need to get out. I need to share it for some odd reason. I started a blog of my own after my daughter was born as away to journal our experiences (it ended up being very therapeutic for me) but family members read the blog (okay, two family members) read the blog and I just could not mention this kind of thing there because it would get back to her.

Her. My mother. I really had thought that I put all of the feelings aside and forgave her a long time ago but with the birth of my daughter it drug them all back up and now it is super hard to forgive and forget. My guess is that having my daughter made me realize what it is to be a mother to a daughter and all the love and emotions I have makes it harder for me to forgive my mother for all the things she has done. If I love my daughter this much then shouldn’t all mothers? And if all mothers do then why did my mom do all the things that she has done?

So all the background stuff because like I said I need to tell someone and I need to not be judged. My mother had me when she was in her early 20’s and divorced my biological dad when I was two. I never had a relationship with him which is probably its own story. My mother has since been married four other times and in numerous…….NUMERIOUS relationships. Two of the men my mother has been involved with sexual molested me when I was under the age of five, I have seen men beat my mother up, I have seen my mom wasted out of her mind on various drugs and alcohol. I have seen and heard my mother in sexual relations. She once left me with “friends of the family” for over a year. I was scared to death to go to a baby sitter, afraid she would not ever pick us up.

When I was in the fourth grade my mother married her fourth husband. He is what I consider a normal guy and provided us a normal life, but my mother is anything but normal and could not stay past seven years. When she left, she left all of us. One day I came home and she was not there. No words, no explanation she was just gone. I think this might have been harder on my father because he was so caught off guard, he didn’t really have a clear idea of what our past had been. My sister and I, we were upset but more upset for our father who was devastated. I am calling him my father because he adopted us when they got married. Eventually I tracked her down but she did not want to talk about it, she acted as if everything was normal. I couldn’t take it, I stayed with my father and my younger sister went with my mother.

My sister. My baby sister is a mental case. Really. No other way to put it. She is better now but it took a lot of psychiatric help and drugs. After my mother left my father she moved away. My mother was not in my life for almost five years. She didn’t call, she didn’t write. I have no idea what was going on, I just kind of went on and thought it was probably for the better. But when she was in a bad spot, needed money and know one else would help her she contacted me. She called me out of the blue and I broke down crying. I had already forgiven her (thank you, Oprah) and was grateful to be in touch with her. Her response, “why are you crying, what’s wrong?”

That was about twelve years ago. Like I said I have forgiven her and had accepted her for what she is. She has stayed in the same city/town since then so I would see her occasionally when I would go back to see family members. She has even come to visit me three times in the state that I live in. It was nice. I mean we couldn’t talk about the past and there are never any questions asked because she only denies or withdrawals. It just didn’t seem worth it, so I too moved on.

When I was pregnant I was hoping my mom would be here. I think I was super duper hormonal and I really thought she was going to be here. She agreed and said she would get the time off. Yep, you guessed it none of it happened. She told me when she went to ask for the time off everybody had already asked for it and she couldn’t come when I was giving birth but would be up soon after. I had a rough time delivering and ended up back in the hospital one day after being released. I did not bother to call my mom but my grandmother had called checking up on us, found out and insisted that my mother get in a car and come help us. By the time I had gotten out of the hospital the second time she showed up, stayed two whole days and left. The two days she was here she talked non-stop to my sister and nephew on the phone.

Three months later, I am still on maternity leave and my hubby had training he was to do for three weeks in another state. At the same time my mother was on a cross country road trip. Two months after that, still on maternity leave my mom was on another vacation. I finally went to see the family for Thanksgiving and my mother could not be bothered to take time off of work. We spent time with her over dinner one day.

My mother has taken several trips and even as I write this, is taking a cross-country road trip. I found out through my aunt because I can not tell you the last time I have spoken to my mother on the phone.

I am mad. I am pissed. I am ashamed. I am even more upset that I am upset about this in the first place because the reality of it is, she has not changed. She has always been like this and I for some reason thought she would be different to her grand-daughter. She is not interested. I want her to be. I want to have a mom and I want my daughter to have my mom as a grand-daughter.

Understand that if I mention these feelings to her she probably won’t talk to me again. Although it seems like I won’t be loosing much I will be loosing the only mother I know. The only bit of mother I have, I will loose. I am just not sure if it is worth it. I guess what I need is some advice is to get over this, in a healthy way. I CANNOT let my daughter be affected by this.

Mother Manipulator

Posted by Anonymous.

My mother and I have never been friends. As a matter of fact, in a different setting, I can almost reassure you that she wouldn’t even like me. Not that I am bad, not always anyway, just that….I am not her. I have no desire to be her. And, because I am writing this as anonymously as possible but I just asked about it publicly, I am going to tell you the stone cold bloody truth and if you figure me out, bleh, who cares.

My mother is a Bible Thumper. She married a man (the first time, marriages 2, 3 and 4 were to the same man who happened to be her first cousin and horribly abusive, husband number 5 for her was too nice of a guy) who was gay and knew he was gay but wanted children and in the 60’s there was no way he could openly admit to being gay. He also married and went to college to prevent being drafted. I know, not all high standard traits by any means, but we are talking truth here ok?

My dad finished school, got a teaching job and taught for 19 years…in the closet. At age 4, my father kidnapped me and left the state because my mother was trying to get a judge to take away his parental rights base on his selection of a partner (amazingly enough, even in the early 70’s that was a truly remarkable thing that judge did.)So, fast forwarding a bit here but at age 13 after my mom had remarried the cruelest, meanest, most abusive man she could find, I moved to live my dad. Note above she married him 3 times….

Enter – the manipulator – that is my mother. She is playing a game of chess and she uses her tactics of manipulating people into doing what she wants. Don’t get me wrong, no one has ever seen that side of her but me and my husband. He had been with me for close to 3 years before he saw the evil manipulation and it was enough for him to ask her to leave our home.

So, I’m skipping a lot here just because what is readily on my mind has to get out of my mind or I’ll never go to sleep. If anyone expresses interested, I will come back and fill in the gaps later.

I am going to tell you this one thing, it is important to the surroundings of today’s particular chess move on my part…and hers too. The time that my mom got so out of hand that she was asked to leave was after she had found out she had cancer and told many people but not me. Instead, she chose to berate me and condemn my ever action for about 3 days. And, then the proverbial shit hit the not-so proverbial fan. And, she left from my house screaming and crying in a fit of rain with a walmart bag over her head about 10 pm.

So, my mom has battled cancer (has lost 3 brothers to cancer and a sister in Florida that is very sick) and was diagnosed as “in remission” last October. But last week we found out that she does have some re-growth but they aren’t going to do chemo or radiation for 3 months. I don’t know why, that’s just what I was told.

And, speaking of what I am told, I am not told everything. I am an only child and I live 100 yards from my mother but my cousin has been living with her on an off for 3 years now and she tells me way more about how sick my mother really is than my mom ever will.

So, today, as we are mulling around after graduation and I was attempting to straighten out a bill for her, she lost it again.

I spent over an hour and a half trying to get a bill straightened out for my mother. The lady on the phone is talking, mom is talking, and mom is talking to a lady on another phone and trying to tell me what the other lady is saying…..

INSERT BAT SHIT CRAZY WOMAN WITH A MONSTER CAST ON ITS LEG SHOVING UP SOME POOR INNOCENT BYSTANDING STUFFED ANIMAL

So, I get off the phone (1.5 hours and 2 lortabs later) and my mom wants to argue with me. I got the email and read the damn thing to her and she just kept saying things like “well why did they do this or why did they do or why did they send me this letter if they didn’t mean for it to be real?”

Now, here’s a couple of tidbits, I was raised in the south, I went through a rough stage when I was 13 or so and being abused by mother's husband but for the most part, I do not talk back to my mother. But, on occasion, and there have only been like 5 in my life, she loses her complete fucking mind and starts yelling crap at me about how horrible my father was and if I knew about his lifestyle, I would think differently about him.”

I cleared the air on that one a couple of big fights ago and let her know that I new it. Since that time she has had nothing to hold over my head. She was beating me at the manipulating game and I forgot I was suppose to be playing.

Now, given, yes this is the woman who has waited on me hand and foot while I’ve been in a cast, she has cleaned my house, done my laundry, cleaned my front lawn and yea, she has cancer. But, she wasn’t ask to do anything except take the boys to school and back and spend time with them when she wanted.

So, today, after that 1.5 hour conversation, she starts to complain to me because we never have any money Now, with that said, we live paycheck to paycheck and right now, we are borrowing from peter to pay paul and then borrowing from paul again so we can peter.

I don’t know what we can do about that. And, right in the midst of all this, my husband was laid off for a week. I don’t have to tell you that I was sick as a dog for 3 days when he told me that. That was a week ago yesterday and at that time I said to myself, which is more important? car notes? electricity? phone bills (my internet is through my phone so that cuts me out of work)..I knew we would never make it til his next paycheck without something being disconnected. So, kept what money I had and waited to see who was going to make the first move and I’d pay them first.

Fast forward to my mom and I getting testy with one another and she explains to me how we live to frivolously (yea, we have satellite tv, not the regular 3 channels) and how we should be doing this and this and this. I am one person in a marriage. I am her daughter and I know she thinks it is ok to say more to me than him, but my husband is a very big shopper. I rarely ever get anything for me other than stuff I win on line.

I let her know that she is making no effort what so ever to enjoy life. She has never for that matter. And, to be perfectly honest with you, the day I has headed to the hospital to be induced to with our first child, my mom said, “I don’t have ever seen you happy in your life, something was always wrong and you look happy right now.”

And wiht that thought, comes the idea that I don’t think I have ever seen my mother and using her own words, “I’ve had a hard life, I am dying I am just not happy” I don’t know how to make her happy, do you?

She complained because we eat out a lot, then she complained because we bought groceries and my husband cooked but didn’t clean the dishes up. She thought that was a sign for her to do it. No, that’s just how it has always been. If we ate at home, he cooked and I did dishes.

But right now I have a medical condition that prevents me from being able to clean up behind him or the kids and so she acts like it is her personal responsibility to do it. And, so the yelling ensues - I tried to explain that I am just one part of the marriage and I have to do to some degree what he wants and in my condition and she cuts me off, she starts screaming and yelling and hollering that she is sick and she is dying and I act like don’t even care.

So, now I am pissed, I do care, it’s all double edged swords at this point. And, I am also pissed that she has chosen to show her ass yet again in front of my kids. My husband and I do not raise our voices to one another ever, not in front of the kids and not ever for that matter.

So, she starts hooping and hollering about how she is sick and she is lonely at her house by herself and I don’t even come out there to check on her. When the truth is, no haven’t been going anywhere that I didn’t have to and she will be at my house and get up and go home and be alone, then be pissed at me because she is alone.

And, when she was sick from the treatments the kids (6 and 4) wanted to see her but she was too sick to deal with them. So, I would leave my kids screaming and crying and begging to see their nanny and go stay with my mom some. An a majority of the time I was there, she was explaining how I needed to go home and be with my kids that I was missing out on too much of their life.

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF ADVICE IS THAT?

Either way, the phone rings, I had texted my husband in the midst of the argument because my feelings were hurt so bad. He called back after mom had left the room and when she came back inside I was on the with him and sobbing until I couldn’t catch my breath.

So, here we are 24 hours later and she isn’t mad at me but she certainly isn’t happy with me. I don’t know, basically it’s both players yelling “Check Fucking Check” and nothing is accomplished because….no one is willing to back down. I did get up to jolly children though…..they are gone to her house because as soon as I got out of bed, she decided it was time for them to leave..go figure.

As I said, there’s lots of gaps there that could and would explain some of the on-goings but or the most part, this gets the point across. So, if I have anyone asking questions or showing interest, I’ll gladly add some short bits to go with this to help it make sense.

For now, from Anita Beer – I’ll be getting a website sooner or later and at least you will know how to find me.

Like It Never Happened

Posted by Kate.


OK, ladies, grab a drink and clear out some time, this is gonna take a while - it's a long story, even by my standards.

Right up front, I was raped when I was 12. It was a violent thing, nasty, and I ended up with rather severe PTSD. Part of the messed-up-ness was because he told me the standard, "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you and your family," which I believed wholeheartedly. So my parents didn't find out for three years, and then it was during a fight that I kind of threw it at them. They were shocked and upset, as you can imagine. I didn't fully grasp it then, but now with children of my own, I have an idea of how completely devastating that would be to hear.

At my mother's insistence, I went to two therapists, once each. The first was a family therapist, who first met with me alone and told me, "OK, when your parents come in the room, I want you to tell them why you kept that secret for three years." I was a pissed-off 15-year-old, totally not ready to work with her or get healthy, so needless to say, I clammed up and refused to go again. The next one sat knee-to-knee with me and said, in that stereotypical overtherapisty sicky-sweet kind of way, "Tell me everything that happened." She was literally in my face, and her eyes looked like ET's eyes. Again, I clammed up and wouldn't go back. After that, my mother stopped trying to get me to see anyone, and she never, ever mentioned anything about it.

And that's how it continued for the next 17 years. Once in a while I would make a vague reference to it, she would become visibly uncomfortable, and one of us would change the subject. Fine, I can't blame her there, that Mom-guilt has got to kick in, blah blah. I did get therapy - two full years with the same woman, when I was 21-22. And took medication then, and generally worked harder than I've ever worked in my life and turned a lot of things around. I got healthy, basically. Eventually. It just so happens that this June will mark 20 years since the attack, and I am grateful for just how good my life is, even when it's hard.

Anyway, fast-forward to last weekend. When we were visiting her house, I took the kids to the zoo and left Willem at my mom's house doing schoolwork. He and my mom were alone in the house, and when he took his lunch break, she kind of cornered him. It started appropriately enough: "I'm really concerned about Kate, I hope she's getting treatment, I want you to know that I'm always here, if you or she needs a place to get away for a while..." A little pushy, in spots, but not unreasonably so, coming from a mom.

Then she brought up my blog, which she does not read, has never read, refuses to read despite my assurances that it is public and written with the knowledge that anyone might visit. But because of two factors, I've been much more forthcoming and descriptive about the rape in recent months. One, I've reached a stage in my life where I feel a need to stop treating it as a secret, shameful thing, and can share the details because it might resonate with somebody, might even help someone, somehow. And two, because I've been so depressed, I have been way much in touch with my unhappy memories. Whenever you're feeling something of a certain intensity, it's going to remind you of other times in your life when you've felt similarly.

So, my sisters read my blog once in a while - not every day, but when they have time and interest. Which is fine, I don't mind them stopping by and I don't expect them to be daily readers. They read one of the more graphic posts, maybe in January or so, and Sarah (my 22-year-old sister) was upset about it. She's very empathic by nature, so it makes sense that it would have hit her hard. She went to my mother with it, because she was afraid it would hurt me more (this is before I was even on an antidepressant, much less having it start to work).

So (GAWD this is a long lead-up, but I can't figure out how to explain it differently), my mother mentioned that all to Willem, about how intense the post was and how it upset the girls, and how "they never visit the blog anymore now" - which is untrue, I haven't noticed any change in their frequency of comments. And then.

She said to him, my husband of 8 1/2 years and most trusted confidante, who has seen me go through the worst of the PTSD and come out on the other side... she said, "You know, the longer Kate goes on believing that this happened, the harder it's going to be on her. It never happened." And she repeated, "It never happened."

Willem told me the next day - he didn't want to mess up the weekend, and rightly so. Because it has really, really messed me up. (Again, thank God for Zoloft, if it hadn't kicked in I would be a blithering, sobbing puddle.)

And, to make it all MORE fun, I called her on Monday to talk to her about it - I'd have called her when I found out, but we were in the car with the kids and didn't get home until 11:00. I just don't believe in letting things fester too long, and I knew this was something that wouldn't just ease up if I gave it some time - it was going to eat away at me until I talked to her about it. She denied ever saying that. She says that she told Willem, "I don't know the details of what happened, because I wasn't there, and nobody except Kate knows those details." But I've known Willem a long time, and conversed (and argued!) with him over a lot of years. I know that he very rarely can remember the specific words that someone used, he gets the broad idea but can't quote (I can, neener neener) but when he does remember, he is always right and very firm about it.

Which means my mother is lying about her words, and apparently she either believes that I am lying about the rape, or that I am delusional. I know this, not just think it, because later in the week I talked to Sarah about it - I wanted to let her know that I knew about the weirdness with Mom and that she could always come to me with any questions she might have, just to get both sides of the story. She jumped at the chance to ask a few questions (mostly, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" to which the answer is, I wasn't ready to share earlier, plus you haven't been an adult for all that long.) And then she said that Mom told her the exact same thing in January, before I could tell her about the Willem-interaction..

I have confronted my mother with it, and it just went nowhere. She is so completely defended against this, she has all of her lines and reasons all figured out already. And I have no idea who else she has told.

I can't wrap my head around this. I can't understand why she feels the need to share her disbelief with others. What bothers me isn't that she disbelieves me - I can't control that, obviously. There's no way I could "prove" it to her, and I would never force her to listen or read all about it. What bothers me is that she has chosen to seek out other loved ones and tell them about her thoughts. Now I have three of the closest people in my world involved, with Willem and Sarah telling the same story (and without having talked to each other about it) and no motivation to lie about it, and my mother denying it completely... both the initial act and her subsequent statements.

I'm someone who copes best with situations if I have some idea of why it happened... I don't need to agree with the why, I just need to understand it. But I don't understand hers. My best guess is that she believes something like, "If something like that happened to my 12-year-old child, I would have noticed something wrong." My parents always labeled me as overdramatic, and apparently she is now forgetting the hypersexuality, the panic attacks, the refusal to sleep in my own room because there was only one door to escape from, and so on. So it has become a measure of her own parenthood - if I truly was raped, then that means she didn't do everything right, at least in the follow-up, and she can't live with that. Or something.

I imagine that it's just too painful for her to imagine that she missed that. I have long since taken responsibility for my own actions - and my own bad choices, like chronic lying and hiding the experience for many years - and have had to let go of any resentment I might have had that she wasn't psychic or perfect. I know she did the best she could at the time.

Sigh. If you've made it this far, thanks for hanging in there. It's a lot, isn't it?

I wish I could just let it lie, smooth it over... because apart from this, our relationship has really grown strong in the past few years. But it has really been gnawing at me. And I just can't see how it would be healthy for me to ignore the sense of betrayal and hurt I'm feeling right now.

So, what do I do now?? Given that I've already had two very long, unsuccessful, unpleasant phone calls with her about it and have gotten precisely nowhere.

And how do I understand this better? Because she's denying so much that I'm not getting any sort of guidance from her, about why it serves her better to disbelieve and tell others than to believe, or to disbelieve and keep it to herself.

She has been very hurtful through those calls, critical of me (ohbytheway, she also doesn't believe that I ever went through any sort of therapy for this), comparing me to her emotionally abusive coworker, talking about how "Now I can't just relax and be myself around anyone because I'm afraid I'll be misunderstood and punished for it" (an excellent attempt at a guilt trip, I have to admit).

My mom is a lot like me in a lot of ways - she can come across as almost too assertive, intimidatingly confident, very self-assured, even when she's not feeling at all like that inside. She Does Not like to be caught or accused of making a mistake or doing something hurtful (not like any of us do, but she's especially defensive about it), even if it's something small like being chronically late or confusing the day's plans.

Anyway. Enough. Sorry this was so endless, but it feels better to vent and organize it a little... I can't blog it. I don't want my sisters feeling any more in-the-middle than they already do, and I just don't feel the need to preemptively defend myself there - but I really could use some insight.

PS: As an update, after writing the above, I decided to wait until I had something to say before calling my mother again. A month went by, and I finally called her on Mother's Day, mostly to let the kids talk to her. I kept my side of the conversation quick and light, no more than polite. Apparently this signaled to my mother that everything is A-OK now, all smoothed over, like it never happened. She calls me a few times a week "just to chat" and hasn't even obliquely referred to any of this. I've continued to be polite, to call if there's something I need to know (she's hosting my sister's high school graduation in a few weeks), and to wonder what this is really all about. I'm not angry, or even overtly upset anymore, mostly just disappointed and baffled. And I still don't know what to do.

Dear Mom

Posted by Anonymous.

Mom,

I’m sorry to have hurt you like this. I just really needed to take a step back away from all of the drama that surrounds you and my sister. At times it feels like it’s engulfing me and putting my family in pain.

I’m tired of the family always asking me if I’ve seen or talked to you. I’m tired of being told I should make the effort even if you aren’t. It’s not fair to me to be the only one trying. I do not appreciate you telling my aunt that you call regularly and leave messages but I don’t call you back. If you leave me a message I always call you back. You rarely call me; you didn’t even bother to call me on Christmas. Every other year I called you. I’m tired of putting all the effort in. I have a very busy life of my own to worry about. It aggravates me to no end that you tell everyone how much you miss my boys but you’ve never once bothered to pick up the phone to specifically talk to them. Not once mom, no matter what you like to tell everyone.

That’s another thing. Your lies are out of control. Sometimes I don’t know if you know what the truth is anymore. I have caught you in lies about stupid stuff that doesn’t even matter. You lie about why you need money. You called me and told me drug dealers wanted $5000 from you or they were going to kill you. Seriously mom, how stupid do you think I am? My sister has called me numerous times because you’ve wanted her to get money from people she knows. You ask for thousands of dollars at a time. It would be one thing if you got into a jam once or twice for a few hundred, but you have many times over asked for thousands of dollars. What are you doing with your money? Normally I would say it’s none of my business but you’re the one that came to me needing money so you made it my business. I am really worried about you. Money isn’t the only thing you lie about though. I’m tired of lies, lies and more lies. You and my sister both are bad about that.

My sister is another thing. No matter what you say or want to think. She always came first in your life. If she did something the boys were blamed. When they moved out I got blamed. My brother’s wife didn’t tell you the truth about the type of parent you were to the boys because she isn’t the type of person to hurt someone else. The boys walked away from you because everything was always their fault, never my sister’s.

When I had my sister arrested because I was finally fed up with getting hit you told the police I should be arrested. You told them I started the fight, even though my sister did. You let me move out onto the streets when I was 16 with nowhere to go instead of kicking her out even though she was 26 and old enough to be on her own. When she busted a blood vessel in my eye (I was 12) you said I must have done something to deserve it. She hit me plenty of times and you never once stopped it. You’ve never protected me. You made me feel like I was unlovable and unworthy of love. Do you know how screwed up it is to tell your child her father wanted an abortion? He told me you wanted one after I told him you said that. I can remember plenty of times you slapping the shit out of me because I would fight back when my sister would start fights with me. I know I wasn’t a perfect kid, but I was pretty damn good. I was respectful, I stayed out of trouble, made good grades while I worked full time. I didn’t go out partying, I was the sober one to make sure my friends would be safe. Nothing I did was ever good enough to get your attention. You were so focused on my sister and niece. I was your minor child. I should have been your focus. I should have been killed in that car accident and I couldn’t even find you to bring me home from the hospital. You were out getting drunk. I remember calling hospitals because you didn’t come home all night. I woke up at 7 and when I noticed you still weren’t home I was scared you were killed in a drunk driving accident.

After my sister finally moved out you spent more time in a bar then you did at home. You were so worried about chasing men that it didn’t register you still had a kid to raise. Thank god I did a decent job of raising myself. Yeah you were there while I bowled and was in Job’s daughters, but you weren’t involved in it. I felt like you were there because it made you look good because I was good at both of them. I can remember you yelling at me plenty of times while bowling because I wasn’t doing a good enough job.
While growing up I pushed the hurt you caused me out of my heart. I figured I couldn’t make you love me; I couldn’t make you think I was as good as my sister so why get upset about it. After I had my own children all that pain came back. I look at my babies and I actually interact and play with them. I enjoy them so much. I am involved with every facet of their life. I look at them and wonder why wasn’t I good enough for you to want that with me? Why wasn’t I good enough to play with? Why wasn’t I good enough to talk to? Why wasn’t I as good to you as my sister is? You can keep telling yourself you were equal to me and my sister, you can keep telling yourself and everyone you love us the same, but I was there. There was no equality in that house. My sister was the light of your life. Two of my brothers both agree that my sister was it for you.

You told the family way before my husband and I ever had problems that he was cheating on me. You say my niece told you he was. What about asking me first before spreading it around? My life is my life; it’s not gossip material for you to spread. You keep talking how my husband’s family treats me like shit. They used to, but not anymore. How they treated me was my fault too. It’s been instilled in me that I do not deserve to be loved so I figured there was no way they would love me. I took everything as a slight because I was taught to be the victim. Now that I’ve finally let them into my heart and realize that they do love me, things are much better with them. I have a happy life here. I don’t miss the drama that I dealt with up there. I’m tired of you asking me when I’m going to visit “home” again but in all the time I’ve been gone you haven’t made the effort to visit me. 9 years is long enough to save the money to come visit. Last time I checked the road goes both ways. Quit telling people how much you miss us when you don’t bother to call or even attempt to visit.

I’m not ready to have a relationship with you right now. I don’t know if or when I will ever be. It’s too hard to love my kids as much as I do and have my heartbreak knowing you never once made me feel that way. When they wake up scared or sick at night, I go to them willingly with no anger. When I was 12 I cried out for you because I was sick and you yelled at me. I realized then, you wouldn’t be protecting me; you weren’t there to make things better. I was 12 when I first started thinking about suicide. I felt so alone and unloved. I thought my own mom doesn’t love me; my dad was wrapped into himself because of grief. If they couldn’t be there for me I would be better off dead. I wanted the pain to stop. Thankfully I realized I didn’t want to go to hell so I stopped myself. I prayed every single night for God to let me die. I was so angry with God because I thought he was tormenting me by making me go through life unloved. I thought I was a bad person because I was so unlovable. I thought God was punishing me for being so bad. I prayed and prayed to die. I prayed until I met my husband and finally found someone willing to give me his heart. Do you have any idea how hard it is to spend that much time waiting for God to let you die so you won’t hurt anymore?

I wish I could forget, and let it go. But there are so many things I remember, so much hurt I felt, it just stays at the surface. This hurt, this pain, this anger, it’s enough to make me scream. I can remember you threatening not to sign the financial aid paperwork for college because you were mad at me. You said you wouldn’t help me with school. When I told you all you had to do was to sign the papers, you told me you wouldn’t. What kind of mom says that to her kid?

I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready to talk to you. I’ve got things to work out in my heart before I can deal with this drama. I’m tired of lies, especially the lies that are easily found out. I’m not a stupid person, when you lie to me I will uncover the truth. When you tell crazy out there lies, I know it’s a lie. I can tell by the tone of your voice when you’re telling lies or stretching the truth. We can’t have a relationship until you figure out how to stop with the lies. Relationships can only be built on the truth.

Your not good enough daughter