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Good Mourning, Mom.
It’s Wednesday morning which means I’ve just come from therapy. It’s also May 18th, 2022, which means it’s the 23rd anniversary of Mom’s death. I used to say “passing”, but that was like she was just walking by, maybe leaving the room for a minute. Which is maybe what I needed it to be, but then she never came back into the room. So, maybe it’s “death” now. Even my little google banner in the top right of my home screen tells me “Mom’s death. Today”
I don’t need the reminder.
I wish I could talk with Mom about my essays, particularly the series I published a year ago. Benjamin, my therapist, asked me what I imagine she would say. It was hard to find her voice, but I think the thought is there. What she may have wanted to tell me in response to my early years in particular.
It’s hard to read all this. To read about how much you were on your own. How much you were living your life to honor me. Being the person you thought I needed/wanted you to be. That you wanted to be there for me because you sensed that your father wasn’t. So many times when you knew that your father was upset with me for God knows what reason. Sweetie, I think his psychological manipulation of me was due to his guilt for the way he lived his life, particularly in regards to me and our family. He’d take his guilt out on us. And you were there for me. There to build me up, telling me how…