Wow, I don't log on here much. I go in spurts. I really just tend to think about what to write, just don't sit down to do it.
A few weeks ago I weighed 157 - a full 20 lbs more than I did last October. My clothes don't fit me, I never exercise and I just pigged out at the kebab shop. Ugh. I can't seem to get it right for very long, but I'm going to keep trying. I will one day be happy with my body whether I'm a size 8 or 4.
My mom - what do I say about her? Someone asked me if I could have a relationship with her the way she is right now. I had never asked myself that question. But I knew right away the answer was no. I can't accept her. That same someone also gave me a quote she heard on Oprah. True forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past will change. Instantly tears streamed down my face. That is what I've been longing for my whole life. And I didn't even know it. Now I know it. Now I can start a journey of healing and moving forward.
I've committed to 40 days of prayer, intensive self discovery, healing and ultimately true forgiveness. I'm not looking to reconcile at this point, but maybe that can be a reality in the future.
The rings. My grandma's wedding rings. Last August I asked my mom for her rings while she was on her deathbed. My mom said I could have them. Geez, writing this makes me sound like a broken record, I've repeated this story at least 10 times. Anyways, it was a pleasant exchange. My aunt was getting her original set, my my mom was keeping the 50th anniversary ring and no one else had asked for the set on her hand. As a side note: my grandmother was 94 and she was assigning her belongs to her loved ones, it wasn't about greed, from my heart anyways.
My grandma passed a few days later, I was home in California and she was in Arizona. We waited several months for the papers and the funeral arrangements to happen. They were finally scheduled for October. My mother returned to California with grandmas ashes, some family members and the rings. She was wearing them. My mother doesn't normally wear jewelry. I was helping her go through the hall closet when I noticed. She let me try them on but she wanted to wear them until she left to go back to AZ. I felt something in my spirit but did not recognize the feeling.
She left in November but didn't give me the rings. I knew then that I wasn't going to get them. A few months passed, the house didn't sell, my mom didn't come to visit. She was supposed to come for grandpas's birthday but said she didn't have the money to drive over. But June was coming.
I was going to drive over there and and pick up Kayden on June 29th. But Kelsey offered to go on my behalf. Great, that was a relief for me. I don't enjoy road trips and we were going to have to drive over and turn around and come back on the same day. So I called my mom and asked her to give Kelsey the rings. She said no. I asked why. She said because she wasn't ready to give them up yet, they make her feel closer to her mother. I was like "okay". Good bye.
I was so fucking angry. She is such a damn liar. She didn't want to give them to me. She gets a little kick out of hurting me, the selfish bitch. These were the things I thought and said to my husband as were were on our way home that evening. I'm angry just thinking about it. But then I asked myself it that was true. Was it really true? Maybe. But what I do know about my mother is that she is a hoarder. She hoards books, nativity scenes, clothes, shoes, people if they let her, and now the contents of my grandmothers home, and her rings. She is so empty inside, she needs things to fulfill her. She has no one to love her, so she fills the void by spending, eating, reading. She buys the grandkids all these little things, like an exchange of their love. She eats even though she's sick. She reads to escape the reality of her existence. And I hate her for it. But I do understand her.
I want her to be strong, to grow, to experience life, to change her mind. I don't want her how she is. I cannot accept her as she is. So I must let her go, and let go of my past with her.
I must also let go of the wish of a different mother. I see and hear other women and wish she were mine. But this makes the heartache worse I think. It's something I cannot have.
I am motherless. I have a mother, but no one to mother me.
I have a picture of myself when I was 4. I was a sweet looking little girl. Brown eyes, blondish brown hair, petite, fair skinned. I looked at her today, cried for her.
I think my mom enjoyed making babies, taking care of babies, dressing them and giving them toys to play with. But once you required too much of her intellect, her hearts, she no longer loved you. You became a burden, an irritation, a complaint. I'm not the only one who was a victim to her abandonment. It feels good to be validated by the others, but I can't speak for them. They must tell their own stories.
I didn't finish the story of the rings. I'll save that for another day.
