Since I wrote this I have learned more about my life and hers. Her background, her childhood was much worse than mine – so should I thank her for having spared me from what she went through? Not completely unscathed – but in some ways I can understand. She knew it wasn’t “normal” even though it was normal for her; she knew as a kid that she had it hard: her extended family hated her stepfather as well (he was an abusive person, alcoholic and PTSD survivor of the Japanese-American island wars) – but does that excuse her? Or him? Knowing what I do?
I have not been the perfect parent either; I have my faults and weaknesses; I can look back and see where I could have done a hell of a lot better . . . perhaps. I don’t know. I did the best I could. But mother’s day? Always a wry ironic bitter twist to this day . . . both good and bad, because there were positive outlets and effects, too. For the both of us and all of us . . . Happy Mother’s Day.
Thanks, mom, for helping me to become tough. You taught me to bear pain.
Thanks, mom, for teaching me independence. You taught that by being aloof and distant, shoving us away all the time.
Thanks, mom, for trying to teach me about sex when I was 7. But I already knew.
Thanks, mom, for teaching me never to say no. Some predators found that came in handy.
Thanks, mom, for teaching me to bear hunger, and to eat whatever I was given. I’ve never forgotten those days of hunger, or the lean times. And I finally remembered the silver spoon.
Thanks, mom, for teaching me not to envy. Watching you and dad eat while I faced an empty plate helped do that.
Thanks, mom, for the few things you did buy us, and making us take care of them. We knew if we didn’t, there would never be anymore. You…
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