Today, while helping a friend fix computer things, I was asked "were you smacked around when you were younger". I have always had trouble knowing how to respond to frustrated, angry people that I care about. Not even talking about being angry or frustrated at me. But angry and frustrated around me. The louder someone else gets, the quieter I become.
"Why do you get so quiet? Do I really scare you that much? Were you smacked around when you were younger?".
I think that last question was asked to try and lighten the mood. He had no way of knowing. I sorta mustered up a "uhh..why would you think that?" and turned back to the computer screen before I started to well up with tears.
Later tonight, during a movie, I made a comment about how I feared that when I had a kid, the child would grow up to resent me for something. As some sort of karmic payback for letting my mother die without trying to make ammends in person.
"Your mom's dead?" he asked.
"yeah. a little over to years ago".
"Did you ever make peace with her"
"well...not in person......" I started. I wanted to explain that I did not feel that trying to have some sort of ABC tv movie of the week reunion at Methodist Hospital in San Antonio with a woman who often told me it would be easier if I were dead would be the best thing for anyone. I wanted to explain that I did the only thing I could do and sent a note saying "Even though I could not be your daughter, I still always loved you". That was the only way I could make things right in my eyes.
He cuts in and tells me about how much his father hurt his family by walking out but that he would still find some way to make peace if his father was on his death bed.
I responded, lump in throat "It is something I live with daily".
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you feel bad" he quietly responds.
He turns back to watch the movie. I try to sob as silently as I could.
I am successful until that first somewhat audible gasp for air. I excuse myself to the bathroom.
I compose myself a few minutes later, after asking him to give me "just a few moments" so that he stops trying to talk to me through the door.
These waves of emotion and memory about my mother come quick but sharp. And leave just as fast.
It is something I live with daily.
"Why do you get so quiet? Do I really scare you that much? Were you smacked around when you were younger?".
I think that last question was asked to try and lighten the mood. He had no way of knowing. I sorta mustered up a "uhh..why would you think that?" and turned back to the computer screen before I started to well up with tears.
Later tonight, during a movie, I made a comment about how I feared that when I had a kid, the child would grow up to resent me for something. As some sort of karmic payback for letting my mother die without trying to make ammends in person.
"Your mom's dead?" he asked.
"yeah. a little over to years ago".
"Did you ever make peace with her"
"well...not in person......" I started. I wanted to explain that I did not feel that trying to have some sort of ABC tv movie of the week reunion at Methodist Hospital in San Antonio with a woman who often told me it would be easier if I were dead would be the best thing for anyone. I wanted to explain that I did the only thing I could do and sent a note saying "Even though I could not be your daughter, I still always loved you". That was the only way I could make things right in my eyes.
He cuts in and tells me about how much his father hurt his family by walking out but that he would still find some way to make peace if his father was on his death bed.
I responded, lump in throat "It is something I live with daily".
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you feel bad" he quietly responds.
He turns back to watch the movie. I try to sob as silently as I could.
I am successful until that first somewhat audible gasp for air. I excuse myself to the bathroom.
I compose myself a few minutes later, after asking him to give me "just a few moments" so that he stops trying to talk to me through the door.
These waves of emotion and memory about my mother come quick but sharp. And leave just as fast.
It is something I live with daily.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
it hurts to be able to remember.