At the end, it doesn’t matter where first cause is found, who is to blame, or even why it happened.
It matters only that I love you, and I have tried to get close enough to demonstrate that love for nearly two decades, without much success.
It is maddening that you insist I have not tried when I can point to so many attempts, rejected and ignored.
It is hurtful that you persist in false narrative when even a cursory review reveals that what is being claimed is impossible given the routines and circumstances of the time – all of which CAN be evidenced.
When you were born, I finally knew what love was…. and over the decades, now three of them, I have always chosen what I knew was best for you, my own wants and needs ever the distant list – ignored – in the face of life and responsibility.
I bore you gladly, raised you happily, and loved you as best I knew how. All I ever wanted was for you to do better, find better, and thrive better than I.
All I have ever received from you are harsh words, acrimonious accusations, ultimatums, and tirades…. occasionally broken by tearful calls when your anxiety got to be too much, or contrived cheerful ones in which sharp words nestled, your constant anger and recrimination held like a hammer over my head, demanding your priority be highest, even over my own.
My fault, of course. I’m the one who let you cross those boundaries. I’m the one who didn’t understand that placing you above myself wasn’t doing you any favors. I’m the one who wanted so much to be good for you that it never occurred to me I could be otherwise… that anyone, especially you, could see me otherwise.
And yes, I’m the one who left you with your father to try and assure and secure our shared future, family, and home.
You always say that’s the past and I’m forgiven, but that is a lie that I’m tired of pretending to be truth.
No matter how many times I forgive your cuts, your ugly and hateful and harsh words, open my arms, and welcome you, show you my acceptance and love, I am never restored, never reciprocated, never believed.
I can do nothing about that. That is not a problem I can solve, because its cause does not live in me, but in you.
I am tired of being so hurt and impunged by you. I am tired and weary and sorrowful for how heavy your behavior and choices emphasize so well your complete rejection of me as more than a call line of last resort.
I am tired of seeing you act so jealous of cats as you continue to hold my grandchildren from me. I was good enough, trustful enough, supportive enough to keep your dog for you… but not your children, my grandchildren?
You are wrong in that, for that. And I am tired of being avoided, left out, ignored, or recriminated by you.
I overcame hardship and circumstances you will never know, let alone understand. While I was raising you, not before (though there was plenty there, too).
I chose to bring you into the world out of hope and love and care. But you seem to prefer a narrative that says otherwise. Why would that be? Only you can know.
But no, I am no longer that humanity-starved person, and no, I no longer let others in this life treat me cruelly, carelessly, and without compunction.
Not even my children.
And the fact that you seem unable to understand any of this after all this time…? That, my child, my daughter, and my pride, that is simply the way it seems it must now be.
This review and summation, me to myself, the explication under the angry snap statement, “I’m done.”
Once upon a time, that phrase meant I needed to go cool off before trying again…. once again, my fault for abusing language in my pursuit of “if only…”.
You say you are a good person as if you think I am convinced otherwise.
You have truly forgotten this much in anger?
I cannot solve that problem. The solution requires something you won’t accept from me, only yourself.
I know this because it’s how I came to reconciliation with my mother, long after she had departed this world. So perhaps, in the end, my biggest gift to you is the one I never really wanted to give:
My absence.
Because I love you, and because I love myself, so be it.
This is my conclusion, these last four months of contemplation.
I forget which step this is…. acceptance? Guess we’ll see.