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Thursday, November 7, 2013

Help Me Mom

Dear Mom,

So many things were going right this year. I had put my mind to making my life right and worry free. Things were going great.

But when my kidney failed, everything started to go downhill. I have been fighting to get it back on track but nothing is working. The only good thing that has come is that I got the courage up to publish my first book.

Aside from that, I lost my job with the realty company. You know how much I loved that job, don't you? I talked about it all the time and I was so proud that it was my first steady writing job. Once I lost it, I got an opportunity to work with another company for more money.

I wrote some of the best articles of my life to get this new job. I even made it to the final level. And then they told me that my article wasn't up to their standards, even though they loved the first two. I was so crushed. I thought for sure I had dodged a bullet.

But no. And now I don't know if me and the kids will be able to move by the end of December.

You know how proud I am. I love to do things on my own, considering I've been doing things on my own since I had my oldest daughter at 15. When I got divorced at 25, I thought I wouldn't be able to, but I worked that out too. Now, I think I won't be able to cut it.

My book is out, but it's not selling the way I had hoped. I have 4 others prepared to go before the year is out but just in case they don't sell great either I actually added our story to a fundraising site. If you could, please help and ask your friends to help too - http://www.gofundme.com/55ktzo

I know that you believe once I had a child I didn't need you anymore. And I know you don't offer your help to me because I defied you and had a child as a teenager, but I'm not a teenager. I never ask you for monetary help, but this time is different. This is about your grandchildren, not the relationship between you and I.

Just think about it. If you were in a bind, wouldn't you ask for help? Maybe you wouldn't.

Until next time,

Your daughter

Monday, October 28, 2013

The Signing of My First Book

Dear Mom,

What you did was wrong. Seriously. I honestly can't believe that you would do something like that.

When I brought the book that dad had paid for and asked specifically for me to sign it, he looked so proud. It made me smile that I could give him that kind of feeling. But of course you messed that all up with your selfishness.

When I asked you did you want a book, you were nonchalant about it, saying, "Oh, I can just read the one dad gets." So I took it as such.

As soon as my first book arrived I wrote inside, 'To Dad. I love you. Thank you for supporting me all these years. I hope you are proud." I signed it, with love. But for you to then want me to put your name inside of it was just beyond what you do.

You haven't supported my dreams of being a writer. You've done nothing but tell me how I probably wouldn't make it.

I tried to ignore you insisting that your name be in my book, that dad bought. I changed the subject and everything. Dad put it up, hoping you would forget too. But you didn't. Before I got a chance to leave you forced the pen in my hand and wouldn't let me go until I put Mom inside.

I wanted to tell you about yourself right then and there but I didn't want dad to have to deal with your attitude once I left.

Did you even notice the look on dad's face? Did you even care how he felt? Did you care that I wasn't willing to add your name? Nope, you just wanted what you wanted and could have cared less what the rest of us thought or how we felt. As you do.

What was the point, Mom? so you could bra about how you always were there for me. Please. You've done the most damage to me, but you never see it that way.

It's okay though, because I'm going to give daddy another book that is just for him, signed just to him, as it should have been.

One day you will see your error. Oh, I hope.

Until then,

Your daughter

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Finally Published

Dear Mom,

So, I finally published my first book. But you already knew that. It didn't seem like you were too impressed with my accomplishment. It seemed like you were more appalled with the subject matter.

I know that you always taught me and my sisters to never tell our business and that no one should know what goes on behind closed doors. However, it was so freeing for me to be able to share such a personal part of myself with the world. And it could quite possibly help someone else.

Dad was excited and I expected the same from you. But when you showed no concern to my wonderful news, I wasn't surprised at all. I guess I would have been more shocked if you actually said or acted like you were proud. How could I possibly expect you to step outside of your normal non-caring facial expressions?

Somewhere inside me, though, I really was hoping you would have something nice to say. I was silently hoping you would finally shed the disdain you have for me. I don't know what it will take for that to happen, but I was anticipating that this would be a start.

It rather sucks but I have to be honest with myself that this is you. When it comes to me, you show no emotion to the things I do. It's always odd and amazing how you brag to me about my sisters' accomplishments but I don't even get a "good for you" when I do things.

Do you know how it feels to put your best efforts forward and have a parent totally disregard what you do? Maybe you'll explain it to me one day.

Until then,

Your daughter

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Before I Go

Dear mom,

I could have died almost two weeks ago; at least that was what the doctors told me. While dad was really distraught about my condition, you didn't seem to care.

Maybe I am wrong about that. However, the only time you called while I was in the hospital was to see when I would be going home - so I could pick the kids up. It felt great knowing that my kidney was failing and you were upset to have your grandchildren for more than a couple days. Of course I'm being sarcastic.

Your disdain for me is absolutely frustrating. Although you play the civil role, as do I, when we are around one another; I can tell, if I never came around it wouldn't make any difference to you.

That's sad. I mean, really sad.

As my life flashed before my eyes while I was in ICU, one of the only things I thought about was if you were proud. I thought about if you would ever forgive me for all the things I did as a teen. Those same things that you still hold me accountable for at the age of 30. I wondered if you would ever stop being such a prude and just be my mom.

All I ever wanted was a mom. Each one of my friends, both male and female, have an awesome relationship with their mothers. My relationship continues to be broken. And it seems it will remain broken even after you or I passes on.

Knowing this is very disheartening. You would think after the massive cleanup of all my mistakes, being a modestly popular writer and having a brush with death, would be enough for you to behave better. I mean, come on, I'm not a kid anymore and there are only so many times I can apologize to you knowing it isn't enough.

Before I go, at the very least, I want you to know I love you. You may be the most evil woman I've ever met, but that doesn't mean that you are not my mom. I realized a long time ago I would have to accept your seemingly unfair ways. I wonder, will you ever accept who I am?

Until then,

Your daughter

Friday, August 23, 2013

Not In The Same Room

Dear mom,

There has been so much going on and there hasn't been much time for me to give our relationship a lot of thought. I mean, it could have something to do with the fact that every time I open this can of worms, it leaves me sad and a little frustrated.

It completely amuses me that we are not in a place in our lives where we are comfortable being in the same room. I know I have perpetrated some wrongs, as well as you have. Regardless, it boggles the mind that we always have that awkward look in our eyes whenever the other is around.

Like how my back tenses up if you walk in during a conversation I'm have with dad. It's almost as if I can feel your disappointment at the nape of my neck. Your critical stare burns like red coals and I avoid your glance at all costs.

It can't be too easy on your side either. There are times when I unconsciously throw you a scowling glare. There are also times that I roll my eyes so hard at comments you make, I'm surprised they haven't gotten stuck.

The whole thing is weird and rather annoying. For so many years I have been trying to get through to you. Resorting to not speaking to you is the cowards way out. And besides, you ARE my mother and I honestly don't want to cause more damage than has already been done between us. It seems, however, that you like it this way - me wanting answers and you refusing to give them to me.

Eventually you'll come around. I just hope I'm around to witness it.

Until then,

Your daughter

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Missing Pieces

Dear Mom,

You know that I love working on puzzles. They're a great way for me to relax and focus. But you already knew that, huh? Is that the reason you liked to do all sorts of puzzles when I was growing up. Did it allow you to get away from the day's work?

Jigsaw puzzles seemed to be your favorite. And when we would go on vacations, you would always have your Variety book full of word puzzles. As you got older, I noticed, that Soduko became your puzzle of choice, along with Mahjong. You loved to do puzzles, didn't you?

I guess that's why I am into puzzles so much. I mean, I did try to mimic you in certain ways. Quietly hoping you would notice the little similarities as I would do the same types of puzzles. Word games are my thing though, crosswords and such.

We do, however, both like jigsaw puzzles. One thousand pieces and above, right? I know. It amazed me when dad let me have a few of your old puzzles to put together that were stored in the basement of the new house. There are so many of them, I didn't know which to choose.

Funny thing is, I have put two out of the three puzzles that he let me pick out. Each one has a piece missing. Not a bunch of pieces in a space or scattered throughout. Just one single piece was missing. It kind of bugged me a little. I started to put together the third puzzle but I got really frustrated and took it apart.

It's rare that I dismantle a puzzle before its completion without trying to retry at my efforts. For whatever reason, the box just sits on the table, awaiting me to try again. Truthfully I don't know if I will. Maybe it's because I'm afraid there will be yet another piece missing.

It pains me that as much as I love to put puzzles together, this time it's hard for me to be up to the challenge. I know it has more to do with the fact that these puzzles belonged to you.

It's not because there is just a piece missing. The New York puzzle I bought was missing an entire corner and it didn't bug me the same way. I mean, it irked me a little but that was because I don't like leaving puzzle incomplete.

I am honestly afraid that I will never be able to put one of your puzzle together completely. Maybe the pieces went missing during your move to the new house. Who knows? But until I finally find all the pieces to at least one of your puzzle, I don't think I will find the same joy in putting any puzzle together; whether it be yours or not.

It's so ironic how you still have a way of effecting me even though we aren't around one another. No matter how much I try to shake you from my system, your rules and your ways creep into my existence. Sometimes I don't know whether to be annoyed or just go with it. You are my mother - by birth at least.

One of these days I'll get back to the puzzle and maybe it will become a beautiful picture of a flowered pathway by a pond - with no missing pieces.

Until then,

Your daughter

Monday, March 25, 2013

Birthdays

Dear Mom,

Birthdays used to be a semi-big thing back at our house growing up. Remember how you used to come to me and my sisters on our special days with a song and a treat for dessert.

We would wake up to your melodious voice serenading Happy Birthday to us. We loved it as smaller children. As we got older, we pretended not to like your singing first thing in the morning, but we honestly did deep down. At least I know I did.

I remember one birthday when I was 11 or 12, you didn't wake me up to Happy Birthday. I thought it was a ruse. No one spoke of my changing of age all day. I chose to keep quiet because I didn't want to spoil the "surprise" I would probably get once the cherade was over.

Once it got late into the evening and I didn't see a cake concealed by an Acme paper bag in a corner like usual; there was no card for me to read; no song for me to hear, I realized that you actually forgot my birthday. It crushed me.

I later informed you of your mistake and you "made it up to me" and vowed to never forget my birthday again. I held you to that.

Now, as an adult, I realize that there was obviously some important reason why you forgot my birthday when I was younger. It's not that big of a deal to me. However, I realized something about myself the other day.

Before my "big day" arrives I tend to make sure everyone knows it. Not so much to brag, I guess. But I do it so that if I tell enough people at least one person will remember. Kind of sad, right.

It was, in fact, my 30th birthday last Thursday. I was honestly determined to do absolutely nothing, but as the day approached I began to drop hints about my day. Well, actually, they weren't even hints. They were more of an outward acknowledgement. And honestly, 30 is a big milestone, especially since I didn't think I would ever see it.

This year, however, I didn't expect you to sing for me as I sort of expected in past years. I did think that you would at the very least acknowledge it.

I got nothing. Totally forgot. Hadn't said a word about it until I mentioned it to you in our 60 seconds or less conversation that we usually have these days. Crazy part is - I didn't care. I still kind of don't.

I mean, it would have been nice if you called as you do my sisters, but I know that is as unrealistic as believing you'll read this one day. One can only hope.

Until then,

Your daughter