The Anonymous Project continues today, and boy is it raw. Be kind and supportive in the comments, if you are compelled to comment at all.
I’m coming to this grave for the last time today. At least I think it will be the last time but I know I might get tempted to come again another day. I thought bringing things here that you’d like would help with my grief but whatever I do, it’s never enough. I can never pierce the veil between me and you.
I’ve brought you flowers lots of times – first my favourite colours. When they didn’t seem good enough, I brought your favourite instead. I’ve brought you so many precious words over the years: some thought through carefully, some shared spontaneously. But no words have ever been enough to break your silence. You don’t hear my words and you never speak back; well not in a language I understand. I’ve ploughed hours into preparations, bringing things here to try to prove to you I love you. You don’t respond.
So, today all I’ve brought to the graveside are my memories. Memories of a childhood corrupted, a self esteem destroyed, a confidence neglected, a personality misunderstood and undervalued.
I’ve brought memories of your silence; painful silences that could last for days. Memories of your throbbing words:
“If they knew what you were really like, they wouldn’t want you there!”
“If you are what it means to be ‘spiritual’ then I don’t want any of it!”
“One day you’ll wake up and find I’m not here!”
“You didn’t do the right birthday cake for me.”
“An A and two Bs? Thank goodness you got enough to go to University and we don’t have to deal with you in a state.”
“You’re taking my only grandchild away and your brother’s not going to give me any.”
They say love keeps no record of wrongs and I’m sure if you read this you’d remind me of that. But I’d still be safe without this anonymity because you never read my writing.
And every time I’ve come to this grave, I’ve come here filled with hope for what I now see is impossible. You cannot hear. You cannot feel. You do not speak what I need to hear. When will I ever hear an apology from you? Oh no, you will keep your silence now as much as you always have. Somehow, as usual, this will be my fault.
So today I’ve decided I’m not coming here anymore. No daughter should have been treated like this, whatever your pain. You could have broken the cycle but you didn’t and nobody stopped you from inflicting it on me all over again.
They tell me you don’t deserve me, so I’m not spending my time or energy on you anymore. The only energy I have today is anger. I am SO angry at what you’ve done to me. You’ve worn and torn me down, and I can take it no longer. My heart aches.
I have had other people who might fill my mother void. You’d be pleased I feel guilty about being close to these precious mummies. But they have shown me, age doesn’t make you this way. It’s not age or death that separates us: it’s your hardened heart. The only thing that died is our relationship. This grave is empty and so it seems is your heart. And you? You are still alive and kicking…me.
So I’m not going to come and worship at the grave of our relationship anymore; it’s killing me.