A Letter For Mothers Day

Some had mothers who cared so much,
Some had mothers who did no such.
Mine was up and down each day,
I didn’t know which was the right way.

Mom, you made my life very difficult, not only as a child but as an adult, right up to this day. I lived in fear of your anger. I never knew when it was coming, like a bolt of lightning from the sky.

I felt as though you were not proud of me. I felt as though you didn’t love me. The truth, I think, was that you were not capable of love. I believe that you, too, were damaged somewhere in life, and that our mental health was passed on from generation to generation.

How can I hate someone who is ill? I can’t. Was I capable of loving you? Not then, while I lived under your control. The fear continues to live on in me, the mental illness passed on to me.

But that cycle ends with me, and with my brothers. None of us had children of our own and that can’t be coincidence, as they both married and are still married. But I remained single, but not just due to you. There was another kind of abuse going on in that house, that you didn’t seem to be aware of.

I’ve heard of people having love/hate relationships, and perhaps that applies to my life, not just for you, but for Dad, and for all the significant others I have had during my 55 1/2 years of life.

But now you are gone. I never got to really talk to you as one adult to another. I was always your daughter, and was treated as such. I no longer have the opportunity to tell you that I love you. After years of therapy, I realize that I do love you, and I do not. I cannot.

Am I capable of loving today? I love God, in a very special way. And I love my family, a family I would not have had, if not for you.

Slowly It Approaches, And Then It Is Gone

Slowly, Christmas approaches,
Day by day it nears,
Coming ever so slowly,
Nearly bringing me to tears.

This is the second Christmas,
Without my mom around,
It was just over a year ago,
We put her in the ground.

With each coming day,
While everyone’s at play,
I sit here, still I mourn,
The day that I was born.

The day that I was born,
Such an odd day of the year,
A day that all the children,
Run around in pretended fear.

Now it has come and gone,
That day that shines so bright,
Alighting each and every home,
Even through the night.

I must accept that she is gone,
But life just doesn’t end there,
New traditions have now been made,
Without my mother there.

– van –