I veer wildly between wanting to run away, to just give up, and wanting him so badly, loving him so fiercely, that I am willing to do anything to make it work.
Veering, stumbling, I land here, on my bed, alone, a glass of whiskey in my hand. I think about it all. About him; about us; about them; about what used to be all of us.
About me. About who I am, with him; and without.
I am not the one perpetuating this place that we (the group we) have found ourselves in. Yes, I own that I had a part in instigating it – but I have cut myself to ribbons trying to make up for it, and I just don’t have anymore blood to bleed. I don’t know if we can move on – if I can move on – burdened by the baggage of so much hurt, so much pain, so many disappointments.
When do you finally decide it’s enough, or too much? When is it time to let go?
Today is my daughter’s 27th birthday. Yesterday after work I met her for a walk/run. She’s training for a 10K on Sunday. That’s my girl, doesn’t fuck around – no 5K for her first race, she’s going the full monty. Actually, I say “that’s my girl,” but I don’t know where she got this ferocity from. Not from me, surely. But I am so damn glad it’s part of her. Never accept “too little too late”, never accept less-than. Never settle. Her stepmother harasses her about “settling down” so she can have kids: “You’re not getting any younger…” My daughter is 27. It curdles my stomach to know she is putting that kind of pressure on her. Please please please do not bow to anyone’s pressure about how you should live, daughter.
I wonder what my life might have been like if I’d had a mother like me.
Of course, I am also the mother that, after we took our walk, didn’t realize it was the 24th, the day before her birthday. I had been living under the delusion that it was the 21st, and that I would see her for her birthday that weekend. So yeah, I suck as a parental unit. But maybe her having a mother like me is a positive feature. Maybe it was something she has had to overcome to become the amazing woman she is.
I’m okay with that. Whether she’s overcome or blossomed because, I am proud of her.