The Maternal Grudge

Under the guise of some trou­ble with her iPod, the old sec­ond gen­er­a­tion clunk­er that I gave her last Christmas, my moth­er calls me on Saturday, close to mid­night.

I can hear the con­ges­tion in her nose. She’s been cry­ing. It gets lone­ly when you’re alone in the house on a Saturday night, the same house you’ve inhab­it­ed for the last 15 years of your life with your façade of a fam­i­ly, and the façade is torn down.

Our last phone-call did­n’t end well. She want­ed to know why we weren’t as close as oth­er sons with their moth­ers.

How can we be close”, I told her, “You go crazy every time I tell you some­thing impor­tant. You’re sti­fling. Overprotective. Growing up, it made my life a night­mare.” For the first time in my life, I revealed a glimpse of how she had wronged me, not even bring­ing up the mem­o­ries of men­tal abuse I keep buried in my chest for times like this, like an ember ready to be stoked into a fire.

It’s because you’re my only son, and the only thing I have left now.” Saying these words, spark­ing a sud­den real­iza­tion, makes her sob more. She tells me that she wants to start over. It’s nev­er too late. She wants to be stronger so she can sur­vive this divorce, and close to me so she’s isn’t left with­out an emo­tion­al bond.

I can only say that I’ll have to for­give her first. Up to then, she did­n’t even know that there was any­thing to for­give.

Unfortunately, for­give­ness isn’t some­thing that’s in my pow­er. I have no pity for her. Knowing how vul­ner­a­ble, weak, and depressed she is just a reminder of my own child­hood, and only time has a chance at edul­co­rat­ing the bit­ter taste in my mouth.

So she calls me on Saturday, pre­tend­ing to need some help with her iPod, to see if I’ve for­giv­en her yet. If I ignore her, I become as ter­ri­ble a per­son as she was. I only wish I could believe that she did­n’t deserve it.

But I can’t.

4 comments

  1. whew
    tough times
    I’m sure glad I had more than one child…especially for that rea­son…
    with­out even know­ing it, par­ents can eas­i­ly ‘put all their eggs in one bas­ket’
    and feel like; you should want for u, what they want, because, after all, they only want the best for you…right?
    how could they ?
    Parenting is tough, emo­tion­al­ly
    on the on hand you LOVE your child SO much, you want to make THEIR life every­thing yours was­n’t
    but
    it’s not the job of a par­ent
    as much as par­ents would like it to be
    all you can do, is raise your child, the best you know how, KNOWING that YOU set the example.….‘do as I say’ does­nt work.…
    beyond that, the life belongs to the child
    a child owes a par­ent …depend­ing on the parenting…either very lit­tle
    or a very respect­ful THANKS and I LOVE YOU, and thank you for lov­ing me

    there’s noth­ing else
    par­ents don’t own their child’s life
    nor con­trol it

    So sad to hear your mum is soooo sad
    I hope she can go see a coun­silor or ther­a­pist…
    It’s an inner jour­ney for her
    well
    and for you too
    abuse always leaves deep scars of rage and resent­ment…
    the loss of a sense of secu­ri­ty, in your home and in your world.
    It’s amaz­ing how rais­ing your own chil­dren brings it RIGHT back into your face…
    how I feel so dri­ven to ensure my child’s start in life is bet­ter than mine was
    but
    the best way to do that is to ‘work’ on myself
    so
    clean­ing out all the near for­got­ten demons, is in order, because chil­dren can see thru any­thing
    you know that

    all the stuff that hap­pens to you ear­ly in life casts a dark, FAR reach­ing, shad­ow over more than u realize.…trust me
    as I’m.…ugh ..37 now
    Enjoy the trip and the adven­ture
    now’s the time to do it, you’ve no heavy respon­si­bil­i­ty

    cheers
    from the West…
    Amy

  2. Whatever they could­n’t pro­vide, you’d end up hav­ing to sup­ply them, because they lack that to begin with and you learnt from grow­ing up with that lack­ing. Parents are such inter­est­ing species. It’s as if they returned to a child­hood state.

  3. I used to be scared to have chil­dren, because I was afraid that I’d grow up to abuse them the way mine abused me. The more peo­ple I talk to, how­ev­er, the more I see that they’ve come from bad and bro­ken homes, and this only makes stronger their con­vic­tion to raise their chil­dren well.

    Thanks for help­ing me real­ize this.

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