My favorite picture of my daughter
Last night, my daughter and I stood in line at the grocery. The store was crowded and of course they had only a few lanes open. While standing there, she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. Then she leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. I smoothed her soft hair and we laughed about the cover of The Globe magazine. She then decided she wanted a candy bar and wandered off. I stood there, flipping through an US magazine when I was approached by an elderly woman.
“Your daughter is beautiful.” She said.
I smiled and thanked her. My daughter is beautiful. She has been fortunate to have had no issues with weight or acne and she has a tiny hourglass figure and milky white skin. I’ve never made a big deal about her looks or her slim body. I grew up with a mother tortured by her body and in turn she tortured her children. Instead, I figured if I let nature do its job, then she’d end up the weight she was supposed to be. This doesn’t mean I bring a lot of junk food in the house, but neither do I sweat it when she wants to eat a candy bar and a bag of chips before dinner.
The elderly woman reached out and patted my arm. “You did a great job with her if she will still hug and kiss you in public as a teenager.”
I thanked her again and looked over my shoulder where Nat was doing peekaboo with a baby in a cart in another aisle. There are a lot of things I did wrong as a parent. But when I see her laughing, when she walks me to the door every morning and hugs me goodbye, when she looks at complete strangers we encounter and finds one thing nice to say them, I know I did a good job.
We’ve had a rough time through the teenage years, but she’s still loving and sweet. There are days when all we do is battle, then she’ll come in the room and tell me she wants to do better at communicating with me. She hasn’t always understood the way the grownup world works, but she’s getting there. She is generous and compassionate and she strives to be a good person. In the scheme of things, maybe raising a considerate human being is all I could have hoped for.
My daughter joined me once again in the line and she smiled at the elderly lady. “That’s a pretty scarf.” She said to her. The elderly woman beamed and moved back to her cart.
Yes, my daughter is beautiful. Inside and out.
I’ve been asked by more than one reader about my mother. Apparently she’s missing from my blogs lately and people are curious about my very complicated and volatile relationship with her. It’s like reading a book and there’s a protagonist and you’re just so curious about what really happened to them. I’m not sure if in my case if it’s more Patricia Cornwell or Stephen King. The truth is, I haven’t spoken to my mother since October. Now, before you judge me…..
The last time I saw my mother was at my aunt’s deathbed. I held my aunt’s hand and watched as she succumbed to the cancer that had been periodically visiting her body for the last fifteen years. She was ravaged by pain and regret and although we had a falling out, attributable mostly to my mother and my desire that my aunt stop enabling her prescription pill habit, we were able to communicate both our love and our sorrow before she passed. I comforted my mother in her sorrow and ignored her painful outbursts aimed at my aunt’s husband and myself. It was time to put aside petty things.
I thought the pain and the sorrow of losing her sister would be enough to make my mother realize what she was inflicting on her children and her grandchildren. She was not speaking to my sister. My sister had been angry and said angry words, and according to my parents they were unforgivable. They decided to never speak to my sister again, and in doing that had not spoken to their grandchildren either. I played mediator for a period of time, and had clung to a small vestige of hope that all of it could be resolved. I talked my sister into visiting the hospital with me while my aunt was still cognizant enough to know she was there. I watched from the doorway as my mother snarled at my sister and rolled her eyes and the disgust was palpable. My sister’s egregious act was by telling my mother and my father she was angry, she was hurt and they had caused it. For this, my mother could barely even look at her as she sat crying at my aunt’s bed side.
I was certain death would be the catalyst to bring us all together. After all, hadn’t my sister and I forgiven my parents so many things? There were instances of neglect that were so painful, and yet we saw past them. We had overlooked my mother’s drug addiction for years and had forgiven my father for enabling it. Surely, words spoken would not be the straw that broke my family’s back. Yet, even in the tragedy of death, they could not see beyond their own selfishness. First one, then two holidays past and they refused to see my sister or their grandchildren. I pleaded and ranted at my father, and still he held steadfast.
So, how is my mother? To be honest, I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to her in three months and neither will I. It seems cold dead hearted to abandon my parent when she needs me the most, but I’ve extricated myself from the guilt I’ve carried all these years. I cannot have a relationship with her while she’s on drugs, be them prescription or not. It has been her decision to not speak to my sister and her grandchildren. Now, she’s locked up in her house, sleeping in a recliner when she’s not watching Law and Order and I can’t imagine a more miserable existence. I once believed loving her could make a difference, but it hasn’t nor will it ever.
I’d like to say at least I have my father, but I’m no longer speaking to him either. His choice has always been to allow my mother to erode our family. He has chosen not to see his grandchildren. He has chosen to disown my sister. There was a time when I understood his pain, but those are bygone days. The history speaks for itself and my parents have to live with the choices and decisions they made. It sounds harsh and simplistic, but it’s anything but. I’m a parent and I love my child more than my own life. I cannot imagine she could say something so egregious I would cut her out of my life. I cannot imagine saying to her that her pain and the words she may say in it, are unforgivable.
I’ve thought a lot about this. After all, I was grateful I had sat at my aunt’s bed side and said goodbye to her. I was grateful I heard her apology and I was able to give mine. It’s beyond sad to waste moments that could be spent loving and understanding each other. But I hug my sister, this woman who was once this baby I loomed over in her crib. I had loved her wholeheartedly. She was a prelude to the daughter I would one day call my own. She is a beautiful soul, yet in so much pain directly caused by my parents. They did not keep us safe and did not protect us. She wears the open wounds of someone who longed for comfort and never received it.
It is a miracle neither of us are drug addicts or in prison. Instead, we turned to each other and found the comfort in our family of two. Our family expanded with our children and we swore we would do things differently, and we have. Our children have never felt alone in the world. We had each other. I remember laying in bed at night, whispering to each other in the room we shared, trying to cheer her up with funny stories. She deserved better. I deserved better.
So since my father insisted I had to choose a side, I did. I thought of my sister crying in a hallway with my mother smacking her and my father standing feebly by. I had pulled my mother off her and demanded my mother to leave. She didn’t and my father didn’t make her. But in that moment, we became all that each other ever had. So if my parents can’t forgive my sister for the words she said, then they have chosen to be alone. We are surprisingly happy and well adjusted. Not having to watch my mother slur her words and lash out while high on drugs is a relief. Not having to wonder why my father didn’t and doesn’t do more to prevent it is no longer an issue. We have each other. Maybe that’s what got us through it all.
Cold Dead Hearted
Cold Dead Heart 