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 |  The Journal of Someone who Squandered away Years but wishes to redeem them in the present |
| I received a letter from my mother today, accompanied by the birthday card I sent her last week, unopened. I'm going to transcribe the letter shortly, because it needs to be preserved. I'm not sure I journal too often about my mother. I haven't seen her since the wedding (July 09). I haven't spoken to her since the argument we had when my dad (divorced from her some 35 years) was dying. Suffice it to say we were not close. Two of my therapists have said that I should be comfortable saying factually that I came from a severely abusive home (with my mother and brother), but I've never been comfortable with 'severely'. There weren't that many beatings, and I never had a broken bone... I have avoided my mother from the age of 14, and my earliest memory and emotional association is of fear. No, I am not close to my mother, and I never wished to be for as long as I have known her. I think I have learned just a little about childhood development, and I am completely comfortable saying that that sentiment is in no way of my making. I sent her a mother's day card in May. I sent her a birthday card in which I said "Call me if you wish to have lunch." I was about ready to prepare to try again, although all prior efforts end in frustration and failure. When I read the letter, I was dumbstruck. Surprised, yes. Incredulous. As my mind processed the words, I could anticipate the subsequent hurt that was bound to coincide with her words (my hurt). But there was something in me, perhaps the survivor, who I could hear saying "Before you go all crazy with mixed and strobing emotions, know this: THIS IS NOT A BAD OUTCOME FOR YOU. My first emotional reaction, then, was to be relieved. I am relieved of the burden to be the one who felt guilty for our relationship's failures. The letter follows: Dane I am returning your mailing. During our last telephone conversation in January, you made clear the contempt and disrespect you have for me. I cannot have you in my life. The words and phrases you spoke to me have never been spoken to me before. Most of them have never been spoken in my presence. You said vulgar and filthy things to me. I cannot have someone in my life that thinks and speaks such things. I should have known the depth of your contempt for your blood relatives when you wouldn't call your brother to invite him to your wedding. Your choice and your loss. If you wanted to hurt me, you didn't. These past 25 years of abuse and neglect have toughened me; but I've turned the other cheek for the last time. You have shamed me. I thought I did a better job as a parent. Heaven knows I put my children first before all things. I am just grateful that my mother and Mary Meade didn't live to see your conduct. They would have been hurt and bewildered. I bear you no ill will but if you unleash your rage on Laura, or any of her family members, she won't tolerate it. You might consider anger management and therapy before that happens. And finally, to be perfectly clear - I don't want to see you, hear your voice or read anything you write ever again. You will not be bothered if I am in need or sick. Your social calendar or concert plans will not be interrupted when I die. Consider me dead now. This is the last you will hear from me, or about me. The birthday and Christmas gifts Scott delivered to you were bought long before your tirade. The beer I kept here for your visits. Obviously I haven't, and won't, need it. (hand signed) Mom *************************** So there it is. Now that last part is simply background noise; when my brother was here in July he stayed with mom, brought me two of dad's guns, and brought up stuff that mom had got me for visits or Christmas (since I haven't seen her since the wedding). The grandma and Mary Meade thing is the call to the divine of guilt. I loved my Gram and Mary, a family friend I knew as Aunt Mary, was a true benefactor to me in my life in many ways, and I wish I'd known her better (she died when I was 22 or so). They were the Ohioans who made my summers, where I traveled to Aunt Mary's farm in Canton, that helped me feel like life was sometimes awesome. On the farm, most of the summer without mom, I had peace and tranquility, and freedom to play, to dream, to imagine. My favorite possession is the picture of the Farm I have from the 70s, a framed 3-foot aerial photo. Because that was where I learned about love, I think, in it's deeper forms. They were an anchor that kept life from being unbearable. I debated not putting this here. Don't think me callous (though I do find ways to laugh about it upon re-reads), but I'm not fazed by her. I've had enough long ago. This is not the way anyone would want any relationship to end. Let alone with one's mother. But I am relieved that the relationship is over. She is the worst abuser I have ever known. She made me miserable, and if this is to be her 'death bed confession,' she would have me be miserable the rest of my life after she's gone. I long ago refused that path. I am a good man, and I am so not because of you, but despite you. I will not be responding to this. My mother disowned me. Nothing to see here... Don't get me wrong, inside of me is a little boy who just heard his mother tell him that he's a horrible person, and that is tear-wrenching to him. But I was never able to please her anyway. In a way, she proves, in an eloquent page, why I need her to be external to my life. I will treasure this letter. It opens the key to a cage. It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn |
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