Today is my mother's birthday. Sometimes I hardly notice as this day passes. Other times it seems to smack me right in the face like it is something important that needs to be dealt with. I'm not really sure if it IS something that must be considered. All I know is the reminders of the date seem to be every where.
I don't miss my mother. The idea of a mother I have missed most of my life. The actuality of what I had and what I needed were two such totally different things the chasm between them feels insurmountable.
I know I don't what my mother back. I'm actually relieved that she is dead. I know she can't hurt anyone else although I'm afraid her influence is still affecting a lot of other people. Funny how someone can reach beyond the grave still spreading his/her poison but I am resigned to that.
I know my family of origin will never be one of those loving families that everyone wants. It's just not possible. Too many of the participants are clenching tightly those old family rules. I guess the fact it's spilled over into my current family plays a role in my sadness on this day.
Despite all the work I did to stop the cycle of abuse, I can see the tentacles of old rules tightly grasping my child. As much as my oldest daughter hated my mother, she is much like her. My daughter will do anything to protect herself, even at the expense of her children. I've seen enough evidence of that to know that for sure. It breaks my heart.
I know that I can't fix that, only she can, but I also know there's not much chance of that ever happening. She is firmly entrenched in old ways, comfortable with the ugliness familiarity entails. Her children are comfortable in the ways as well. Content to sit on the sidelines and do as they've been groomed to do. I pray that they find happiness. I doubt that they will.
I wonder what my mother would think of all of this. I guess she'd probably be appalled, or at least act like she was. She would point the finger at what she'd perceive as my failures hoping to deflect notice from her own. She'd talk long and loud to anyone who would listen about how I screwed up. To her, it would be validation that she was right about me. To me, it is validation I was right about her. I guess that's how life goes.
It's a times like this I think about heaven. I've long thought I didn't want to go to any heaven in which my mother might reside. Then one day it dawned on me, the only way she could be there was to have finally taken responsibility for herself. I doubt that will ever happen, but a part of me hopes it could. Just imagine, if that was indeed the case, maybe at the end of my life I might actually have a real family.