Today is Mother’s Day in the United States. Wherever in the world you are, write your mother a letter.
Lately, I haven’t felt like writing the blog as I’ve been feeling hopeless and it seems everything concerning the life of a ti has been shared online via hundreds if not thousands of blogs, but this Daily Prompt caught my heart as I never properly said goodbye to my mother. She died before her time almost 20 years ago. Here I share things I never said to her but maybe wanted to.
I don’t know how to start this because you’ve been gone so long. I hope you are happy wherever you are, and not too disappointed in me.
You were the best mother you could be to me considering the (probably secret) pressures you had raising me. You always taught me to be honest (“you are such a bad liar”! “lying is forbidden”! “I hate liars”!) but you probably weren’t. Why you gave into those people I’ll never know and why you sacrificed one child (me) to put all your effort in the other I’ll never know. Guess there was a perfectly good reason.
I wasn’t the best kid. I was a rotten teenager. Guess that helped. Still, you tried to be my mother even if it was in small ways here and there. I’ll never forget when you showed up at my apartment with that money–and that my manager had let you in. I’ll remember the occasional shopping trips we went on and when you laughed and laughed at a “story” I’d written putting me in stitches. I remember the occasional lunches out and when I was a kid you having to manage my health problems. I remember you driving 30 miles to pick me up at a concert and 100 miles to pick me up when I ran away one of 7 times. I remember receiving concern from you in a very unexpected way once when my Aunt just laughed in my face.
You never conceded or compromised your principles. You hated modern society and moral looseness. You hated rock music. You were a staunch conservative which is unusual for a Jewish woman. You loved Ayn Rand and William F. Buckley. You did not believe in God and I did not know why. You looked miserable if you had to be in shul.
I don’t think you really wanted to marry Dad. There was someone else, earlier that was either forbidden to you or who rejected you for another. I’m sure you’ve told that creature, my sister, who does not acknowledge my existence, . You started that, you know, splitting us apart. Guess you wanted to save her from my fate. I don’t blame you.
Sister Dearest is living the “American Dream”. The archetypical 2 income upper middle class family with a too large home, 3 kids, lots of pets, etc. I don’t think she got all she wanted for a career, but, maybe she COMPROMISED somewhere as well. I have not talked to her in about 5 years nor seen her in 8. I think she’s one of the perpetrators like those that harass me now. Looking back I can see she “perped’ me from the beginning with little nasty things once my gangstalking started.
The only way I “keep up” with the “family” is shameful: I have to peek on Facebook and had to sort of open up a dummy account to do it. Since I can’t just ask her to be my “friend” on her account I find very little out. There are only a few photos there, none very recent. I saw my youngest nephew for the first and only time on Facebook.
As for me, I’m nothing and nobody. I was harassed and forced off so many jobs that I threw in the towel and got benefits 5 years after you passed. I have had trouble even keeping volunteer and “sheltered” jobs: the perps are there as well. I fight my weight but not too hard, and remain fat after a promising weight loss a few years ago. I went back onto psych drugs due to the extreme stress of targetting getting worse and worse and the weight came back. I lose more and more freedom to the perps all the time. I wish you had told me about them. I think you wanted to once but chickened out. Bet you got threatened with harm happening to HER. I got saved as a Christian right after you died. On Mother’s Day.
Since you’ve died, I’ve had a hard education in life and people. I never knew people could be so cruel and hard. I’ve been used and abused and slandered and betrayed so many times I can’t count. It got even worse when Dad moved away and I had no one. People around me don’t even act human. All I get to see are a bunch of scheming, vicious, nasty creatures who study me and use what they find to upset and unhinge me. Being a target is a living death. I’ve been accused of being a thief, a racist, a schizophrenic, and even a pervert. That is a favorite one they use to get people to hate ti’s. The rumors/fake files/Photoshops must be perpetuated so the harassment can continue and the rotten shits can get paid. You remember that first, well second, if we are counting grocery store incident where I was accused of “stealing”. You were still alive then. Many more were to come. Now I’m just followed through stores by a smirking staffer pretending not to “notice’ me.
I think you lived in fear. You never wore bright colors or showed skin. It was like you were in perpetual mourning. Your black hair color was severe–even though you wore little makeup. You tried to wear color towards the end of your life and right after that you became sick and died. They restrict what colors I wear as well. Were you a ti? I think you were lied to along the way about lots of things and were very angry about it. I don’t think life delivered what you wanted and you didn’t get your priorities right until it was too late.
I admired you intelligence, your sense of humor, and your love of ALL animals. You were great when you let the armor down and laughed. You were a great teacher–you taught me to drive and to write a term paper. You were a good cook even though you hated it. You were faithful with household chores even though you hated them even more. You dragged hoses across that big old lawn even though I would have gone on strike and ordered Dad to get a sprinkler system installed stat or have a dead lawn. You kept the house running–it went to shambles after you died. Dad got very little for it.
You occasionally told stories of a happier past when you had friends and did things. You fondest memories seemed oddly, to be of work. You looked happy in college pictures. Guess I’ll never know what happened but by the time you became my mother in your 30s, you seemed–damaged somehow. Maybe you told HER about it. I wish you had gone back to work after we were older–even part time.
I have your wedding picture. When Dad was moving out of the old house for smaller quarters, I was instructed to find anything that was missed. In the bottom of a drawer in Dad’s bedroom was a huge picture of you on your wedding day. I grabbed it and ran out of the house for the last time. We moved in when I was a toddler and then I was 33. Dad let me keep it. Here, in my welfare apt, it sits in the bottom of a drawer.
Wish it had been better for both of us. I am writing this using reading glasses and my body has informed me I’ll never be a mother. Guess that’s it.
“MOMISMS” from my mother:
“If you make that face it will stay that way.”
“If I make it at home its not fattening.”
“My little spy tells me you traded your lunch.”
“That’s NOT music: “rock music” is an oxymoron.”
“It rains everywhere but HERE. It looked dry the second we pulled into the neighborhood. (drags out hoses).”
“It just SPRINKLED out here.”
“Pink Floyd–like Floyd the barber?”
“Where do they sell fudge here?”
“Why aren’t you hungry/you are eating too much.”
“I HATE knee-jerk liberals!”