Yet I was thinking as I tried to comfort her: "I can't count the times that I've needed you, that I needed your comfort, that I hoped that you would say, 'I understand how bad you feel, and I love you'. You were never there for me. You pretended I didn't exist. You couldn't cope with an imperfect unhappy daughter. You abruptly ended phone conversations when I even hinted that things might not be fine. You left me alone to fend for myself, and I did."
I am angry at my mother. Yet, I cannot abandon her. I want to help her. I want to be with her. I want her to know I love her.
But I wish she could apologize. When she was hospitalized in February, I went up to Yonkers to be with her. She was clearly comforted by my presence. During the course of a mundane conversation we were having, she suddenly said, "I wasn't a terrible mommy, was I"? I wanted to say, "You were a horrible mother, but I know you did the best you could do." Of course, I replied, "You were a wonderful mother, and I love you". And I meant it.
When I visit my parents, as I did this weekend, I feel as if some of the words I need must come from people who are no longer there.
ReplyDeleteSome of the words must come from me, too. But to whom should they be addressed?
Painful riddles.
Painful riddles, indeed.
ReplyDeleteFamily visits. The initial joy (sometimes feigned) upon your arrival, then the "being there", and finally, the separation. With some luck, bits of happiness, hopefully not too much distress.
These kind of visits are usually so difficult for me. The whole family is there, in the flesh or in spirit. And nobody seems to really get along.
It sounds as though your visit was, at least in part, a painful one.
I'm still thinking about your riddles.