Open Letter to my Mom
You're dead, and you're never going to see this. And that pisses me off. I can't even start to describe how that pisses me off. But there are things I need to say that should have been said while you were alive - and that couldn't be said in a hospital room. It took me months to get to the point of being able to say these things. Hell, it took me months to know I needed to say them.
You've been gone for almost four months now, and most days I'm just numb. I didn't expect to feel any of this. I told myself, even while you were dying, that I was going to be okay. After all - it's not like you and I ever had a great relationship. Most of the time I felt like the two of us were on some kind of roller coaster with each other. Years of resentment on both sides, misunderstandings on both sides, and unrealistic expectations on both sides. It took me a long time to admit that to myself. My expectations for you were as unrealistic as yours were for me. Unconditional love may exist, but there is no such thing as unconditional acceptance. People always have things they expect from the people around them. Sometimes these expectations are decent and reasonable - don't be a fuckwad. Don't hit me, don't yell at me, don't abuse me. Some aren't. You cannot ask anyone - whether they're your family or your friend or the stranger on the street - to change their morals, religion or ethics to suit you. You don't have the right to ask anyone to like what you like and hate what you hate. You can discuss it, I love discussing those kinds of things, and sometimes, sure, you do change someone's mind. But you have no right to expect it.
The thing is, without unconditional acceptance, unconditional love is a damned hard thing to believe in. If you loved me, you'd be JUST FINE with my religion, my choice of friends, my weight, my job, my goals, my actions, my attitudes. Bullshit. I have a great many people I love that do things and say things and believe things that I simply cannot accept or appreciate. We've learned compromise. We've learned to draw lines and to respect them.
I didn't do that for you. I demanded that you do it for me - but I expected you to love and accept me exactly as I was, without giving you the lines and boundaries that might have made that possible. We both expected the other person to be the grown-up, in a way. And so we spent years battling over stupid, stupid things. And not-so-stupid things, without ever finding real common ground.
Here's the common ground. You're my mum - and i love you. Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I hate what you said and how you though and how I felt when I was around you. But you're my mum, and I love you. How I treated you at times was unacceptable - and I wish that instead of tolerating it, or ignoring it, you had told me that. How you treated me at times was unacceptable, and I wish that instead of blowing up, or walking away I had told you. I wish we'd gotten a chance to set those boundaries and to learn to accept, even if we couldn't understand or condone. Because I think if we had - we could have learned how to really love each other.
I am grateful - really, really grateful that we had Elspeth to bring us together, because I'm afraid that without her we would have drifted apart, and you would have died without me being able to tell you that I loved you, or that I was proud of you. And I was proud of you, mom. You have no idea. I may not agree with a lot of your philosophies - we had vastly differing opinions on a lot of things, but you were one of the strongest women I knew. You went through horrific abuse and neglect as a child, but you didn't allow it to break you. You spent your life learning, and growing - and I can only hope that someday Elspeth may look at me and think the same things.
Seeing you in the hospital broke something in me. I know that it is the natural order of things for a parent to go before their child - but even with your illness, I had believed we'd have years yet. I wasn't prepared for seeing you in that bed, so thin, and weak, your hair gone. You looked so *old*. So fragile. This wasn't the woman I'd loved and hated for almost forty years. And I was too late. I was too damned late for all the things I wanted to say to you, and all the things I needed to hear. I think you saw me that night. I hope like hell you saw me, and that you realized I came to you, when you called - but I can't know it. Not for sure. Because that was the last time you saw me, or anyone else. The rest of the time you held on, your body was breathing- but I don't think there was anyone there.
And I keep expecting to be all right. Most days I think I am - and then something brings you to mind, and it hurts all over again. I feel like a child again - desperate for mommy's approval. And I'm never going t get it. I catch myself, too many times, wondering what the point of anything is - what does it matter. You're not around. It's too late to make you proud of me.
And I hate you for that. For making that so damned important to me. And I hate myself for not realizing it while there was time to do something about it. And I just don't know where to go from here.
You've been gone for almost four months now, and most days I'm just numb. I didn't expect to feel any of this. I told myself, even while you were dying, that I was going to be okay. After all - it's not like you and I ever had a great relationship. Most of the time I felt like the two of us were on some kind of roller coaster with each other. Years of resentment on both sides, misunderstandings on both sides, and unrealistic expectations on both sides. It took me a long time to admit that to myself. My expectations for you were as unrealistic as yours were for me. Unconditional love may exist, but there is no such thing as unconditional acceptance. People always have things they expect from the people around them. Sometimes these expectations are decent and reasonable - don't be a fuckwad. Don't hit me, don't yell at me, don't abuse me. Some aren't. You cannot ask anyone - whether they're your family or your friend or the stranger on the street - to change their morals, religion or ethics to suit you. You don't have the right to ask anyone to like what you like and hate what you hate. You can discuss it, I love discussing those kinds of things, and sometimes, sure, you do change someone's mind. But you have no right to expect it.
The thing is, without unconditional acceptance, unconditional love is a damned hard thing to believe in. If you loved me, you'd be JUST FINE with my religion, my choice of friends, my weight, my job, my goals, my actions, my attitudes. Bullshit. I have a great many people I love that do things and say things and believe things that I simply cannot accept or appreciate. We've learned compromise. We've learned to draw lines and to respect them.
I didn't do that for you. I demanded that you do it for me - but I expected you to love and accept me exactly as I was, without giving you the lines and boundaries that might have made that possible. We both expected the other person to be the grown-up, in a way. And so we spent years battling over stupid, stupid things. And not-so-stupid things, without ever finding real common ground.
Here's the common ground. You're my mum - and i love you. Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I hate what you said and how you though and how I felt when I was around you. But you're my mum, and I love you. How I treated you at times was unacceptable - and I wish that instead of tolerating it, or ignoring it, you had told me that. How you treated me at times was unacceptable, and I wish that instead of blowing up, or walking away I had told you. I wish we'd gotten a chance to set those boundaries and to learn to accept, even if we couldn't understand or condone. Because I think if we had - we could have learned how to really love each other.
I am grateful - really, really grateful that we had Elspeth to bring us together, because I'm afraid that without her we would have drifted apart, and you would have died without me being able to tell you that I loved you, or that I was proud of you. And I was proud of you, mom. You have no idea. I may not agree with a lot of your philosophies - we had vastly differing opinions on a lot of things, but you were one of the strongest women I knew. You went through horrific abuse and neglect as a child, but you didn't allow it to break you. You spent your life learning, and growing - and I can only hope that someday Elspeth may look at me and think the same things.
Seeing you in the hospital broke something in me. I know that it is the natural order of things for a parent to go before their child - but even with your illness, I had believed we'd have years yet. I wasn't prepared for seeing you in that bed, so thin, and weak, your hair gone. You looked so *old*. So fragile. This wasn't the woman I'd loved and hated for almost forty years. And I was too late. I was too damned late for all the things I wanted to say to you, and all the things I needed to hear. I think you saw me that night. I hope like hell you saw me, and that you realized I came to you, when you called - but I can't know it. Not for sure. Because that was the last time you saw me, or anyone else. The rest of the time you held on, your body was breathing- but I don't think there was anyone there.
And I keep expecting to be all right. Most days I think I am - and then something brings you to mind, and it hurts all over again. I feel like a child again - desperate for mommy's approval. And I'm never going t get it. I catch myself, too many times, wondering what the point of anything is - what does it matter. You're not around. It's too late to make you proud of me.
And I hate you for that. For making that so damned important to me. And I hate myself for not realizing it while there was time to do something about it. And I just don't know where to go from here.