It is late but I don't want to go to bed.
If I go to bed it means today is officially over and I'll awake to the day I dread.
She is arriving tomorrow evening.
She is 83 now. So old. So many years of life.
She plans this arrival on the day after Mothers Day.
I don't want to celebrate her being my Mother.
I don't want to hurt her...but how does one say, "I don't want to think of you as my mother?"
I spend every day of my life squashing memories of the time she wore that label and had me under her control.
I did not feel this anger. This sadness...this disgust until the day I held my son in my arms for the first time.
Every year that passes (in raising my son) opens my eyes to just how horrible of a "mother" she was.
I fight with my entire being to prevent my son from feeling pain. My soul lights up when he laughs and his eyes dance with happiness.
I kiss and hug him as often as he will let me.
I cannot understand how a Mother would feel or do anything less for her child.
But she is 83.
She is at the ending years of her life.
And I cannot make myself say the words to her I feel rolling around inside me like jagged pebbles.
I cannot hurt her.
As she has so often hurt me.
6 years ago