Everyday, no matter what I am doing, I am hit with either a rush of emotions, a memory I would rather forget, or a memory that was long ago buried, at least I thought it was buried. Nothing triggers these emotions or memories. I am so consumed with wanting to right the wrongs, to make my mother “pay” for her cruel actions, or for her to feel just a smidge of the pain that she has bestowed upon me. Not to mention an apology, a sincere heartfelt apology would be amazing! Ownership. Accountability. Yeah, no, ain’t happening. I know that, like I know KNOW none of that will ever happen, but the little girl inside me yearns for it. My mother is still winning. She still has one up on me. More like 2,759 up on me, but hey, who’s counting??
Here’s intrusive thought #1 (cause I have to start somewhere.) My mother has attempted to (and in my mind, successfully done so) rewrite our family tree which removes me completely, or my mother is not my mother but my sister?? I don’t think she has decided the best route to take. According to Facebook, I am non-existent. You might see a sliver of my left arm in a photo that I was entirely cropped out of. At one point, she went as far as to describe herself as the proud mother of three boys. Huh. Ok. However, according to the family tree “presentation” or “picture book” she created, she never puts a label on our relationship. Here’s the rundown on the family tree picture book. My great grandparents had seven children. Each of the seven children, has their own family and that is how this book is divided up. Sibling one: their spouse, their children, the grandchildren, etc. Then it’s on to sibling two, on and on. Just like an actual family tree, just this is done more with pictures, and details of who is in the pictures. But when you get to our section, which is sibling two, I’m not a grandchild. I am in the same category as my mother and her sister. Then there’s a picture with my mom and the three boys, my Aunt and “her” children, my brother’s and their spouses, and last but not least a picture of my two daughters, “Kelly’s daughters.” Not Jackie and her four children, or listing of the grandchildren then the great grandchildren. Just a random photo that doesn’t label any relationships.
Now, there’s a war within my brain, in which one side is making up excuses for my mother, and the other side knows for a fact that everything that my mother does is deliberate. Everything.
More examples, obituaries. It’s always my mom and her boys, then Paula and her children (that’s a whole nother rabbit hole), then myself and my kids. I always thought it should be my mother (husband), their children Kelly (spouse) child 1, child 2; brother (spouse), brother (spouse), brother. Eldest to youngest. I could be wrong. Certainly not Jackie (spouse) their children Brother 1, 2 , and three; Kelly.
Photos. None in my mother’s house that include pictures of me. For years, I never gave two shits about it, actually preferred it, I don’t consider myself photogenic. Never got invited to any weddings of my siblings, family reunions, special celebrations…. my mothers has done a fine job at keeping me in a box and sheltered from her public crowd.
My grandfather’s funeral is another example. She made the family photo memorial video that played up until the service, and afterwards. Every family member, my grandfather’s friends, classmates, were all in this video. Except me and my family. She said she just forgot to put us in the video. Sure. She explained that she just had too many people sending her pictures that it slipped her mind to include us.
What bothers me the most, is that not one person in my family, especially my siblings, my “dad,” or anyone else, has ever called my mom on her shit. On her immature pettiness. I’m constantly wondering what I did that was so bad, that would make her disown me in public. I mean, if you’re going to disown somebody, don’t do it half ass and string the person along, offering them crumbs of your attention every so often. Let them be. Why be so cruel? I know I am not the only person who sees what she does and says nothing. Meanwhile, her actions, her deliberate intentions to completely destroy me, are successful. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why I don’t deserve my mother’s love. Especially when her love is all I’ve ever wanted. To make her proud.
Mommy Not So Dearest 