I lost my mother when I was in my 40's but it was still way too soon. I have sort of the opposite story to tell. She was a great mom in so many ways... The best "memories" are not even memories, they are the little bits of knowledge I gained just being her child. I know more about flowers and medicinal herbs than even I realize - it is not rare for me to stumble across some plant I don't really recall, but somehow I do know. I am sure that somewhere in some forest, she pointed it out to me and told me.
As she lay dying, after almost ten years of being terminally ill, the "big goombah" between us was hers. A scene from when I was 15, I truly thought I had just put it behind me. She was not emotionally equi9pped to deal with what happened to me, there was no point lingering on the pain. Then she died, without ever saying she was sorry, and I got angry, stayed angry for years under the care of SSRIs and a zombie therapist. I am ever so grateful to be back to the place where I just love and miss her, but loving and missing someone still does not really feel "good."
All this is juxtaposed for me, against my children. I reacted badly to SSRIs, and had a horrific withdrawal. It nearly killed me. My children resent all that I went through, I was not nice when I was CONSTANTLY battling an urge to kill myself. Rather than be at all glad that I survived, they will not even acknowledge that I am better. If I say anything other than "Yes, dear" I am "screaming and being a bitch." So I sit, between missing a mother who is dead, and children who wish I was. Happy day, indeed.
Love or fear? Chose again with every breath.
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