Eleven

           “Okay, day two,” Melissa stared at the computer screen then made a face, “Time for the next installment of your letter mom!” 

            She struggled with what to write next.  The hardest part of the dang letter was resisting the temptation to be sequential and analytical.  The whole point was to unbury emotions and be truthful with herself. 

            “Stop overthinking it.  Express what you’re feeling,” she admonished herself then let her fingers have free reign.

I’m sad, worn out and melancholy.  The thought of writing a letter to and about my feelings concerning you mom is exhausting.  I resent being in this position at this point in my life.  Why in heavens name do I have to bother with you! 

Especially since you had to be “bothered” with me.  There’s a component I’ve been missing.  It’s easier to make this be about us kids, rather than just me.  I need to make this be about me.  I feel like they got the worst of you their whole lives.  You made it my job to be the surrogate spouse and parent, a role ingrained in me. A role you used for your own means, time and again. 

Did you program me this way or did I come wired for it?  I know it’s also the classic eldest child syndrome, but you added your twist to it.  I recall the picture of Steven and I with the child’s hutch and dishes behind me.  The dishes are lined up so neatly and according to size. I asked if I did that on my own or did you make me.  You said I always did that without having to be told. Did I really?! 

I remember you slapping me across the face if I chewed food with my mouth open.  For one reason or another you were always washing my mouth out with soap. I recall telling an Aunt to not take more mashed potatoes at a family gathering.  You promptly took me in the bathroom and out came the soap. 

            Your family was supposed to see me as the example of how good a mother you were. I remember a video were I’m running carefree down a hill.  As soon as I see the camera I stop, smile and sedately walk down the hill.  It strikes me that I’m not being shy just cautious until I figure out what’s expected of me.  I believe I was always anticipating, so I wouldn’t get into trouble.  I hated getting into trouble.  You expected nothing less than perfection from me.

          Fortunately, you instilled a love of reading in me.  That became a lifeline and way of escape from your expectations.  Books gave me the opportunity to choose when and where I wanted to go.  Unlike the constant moves where I was along for your ride, and what a ride it was!

          I get you and dad came from migrant farm workers, moving and following jobs were your norm.  The first eight years of my life involved and included moving with and around family. But when your sister and family left Sitka, for the first time in your life there was no one for you to feel accountable too.  Even though you were married to Dad, you were now free to make your own choices, which you did.

          We lived in a small trailer and I vaguely remember your fights with a drunken dad.  Obviously, the marriage was crumbling.  It’s there that I have my first memory, which I didn’t understand at the time, of you having an affair with the man in the trailer across from us.  You were always going over there when dad was at work.  Just a side note, it was at his house I saw my first Playboy magazine, I’m nine. 

          One cold winter night you made Sam and I ride in the back of his truck, with no heat.  Meanwhile you sat in the cab right next to him.  There was room for us up front, but no it was more important for you to have alone time with this guy than make sure we’re warm.  You were twenty-four, married with two kids and ready for your brand of fun.

          Soon after that we left Sitka, moved back to Oregon around family.  You were the dutiful wife once again, because you had an audience for the role you were playing.  That didn’t last long because we moved back to Sitka, away from family, and this time your marriage was very on the rocks.  I was eleven when you divorced dad and then all bets were off as you began to live life the way you wanted. 

          You were twenty-seven, it’s the late sixties and you begin to make up for your “lost” teen years.  During this time dad remarries and leaves town. Your sister dies and you bring her daughter Debe to live with us.  She’s thirteen and an only child, it was an adjustment for her on oh so many levels.  You ship Sam off to live with Dad.  You work two jobs, date numerous men and let us girls run free.

          Looking back, Deb and I thought it was pretty cool doing what we wanted.  Another time and place and it could have been ever so disastrous.  You were happy to let me, at twelve years old, date an eighteen-year-old guy that worked at the hotel with you.  My God mother, how insane is that!!

          You liked having us girls dress and act older, as if we were younger sisters not daughters! Men came and went; you were always promising us pie in the sky.  When you met John and he wanted to go to Anchorage, you were fine farming us kids out to family for the summer.  Promising how great it would be when you sent for us come fall and time for school.

          Family took care of us; it was an adjustment living in a more structured environment.  I’d learned from you how to be a chameleon and fit in to stay out of trouble.  When you and John came back to Oregon, he abandoned you when he found out you were pregnant. 

          You went to work part-time at the hospital and we qualified for welfare commodities.  Looking back there’s a sense of respite for that year.  Because you were pregnant there were no men.  We spent time with cousins, aunts and uncles.  There was the illusion of stability for a brief time.

          Two months after Jennifer was born you packed up, shipped Sam to Dad and off we moved to Juneau.  I don’t think there was ever a sense of stability after that.  You depended more and more on me to be the surrogate spouse and mother to Sam and especially Jennifer.  I didn’t know any other fourteen-year-old kids responsible for an infant’s nightly feedings and diaper changes.  I almost didn’t pass eighth grade because you had me stay home and care for her.  Jennifer is a hyperactive toddler because ‘parenting’ is left to teenagers.

          Then there’s the moves from house to house and job changes the two years we live in Juneau.  Once again Debe and I are left to run foot loose and fancy free.  As teenagers we loved it and took complete advantage. It’s a wonder we didn’t end up in some sort of trouble.  All I can say is you lucked out with us mom, because Lord knows it wasn’t anything you did, even though you’d like to think it was.

           Meanwhile Sam moves back and forth between you and dad, because you don’t want to deal with a rebellious eleven-year-old boy!  If you wonder, which I doubt, why he was such a handful here’s an incident he remembers. You come home in the wee hours of the morning, not unusual for you.  A girlfriend you’d went out with that night was frantically waiting at the kitchen table. The two of you had left the bar with some Greek guys for a tour of their ship docked in town.  You’d become separated. The guy she was with put the moves on her, she put a stop to it and left the ship.  She didn’t know where you were and imagined the worst. 

          Sam lay awake on his bed as your conversation drifted down the hall.  Your friend expressed her fear. You told her she didn’t need to worry.  You can take care of yourself.  She asked what were you doing.  He remembers vividly you laughed and told her, you’d never had a Greek before and you wanted to see what it was like!  Then described ‘it’ in detail.  He says in that moment he lost all respect for you!  Imagine that!

          Time and again you never hesitate to leave for long weekends with a boyfriend.  As long as you have ‘responsible’ Melissa at home to be the ‘mom’. To say it was an odd time for me is an understatement.  How does that girl feel? Overwhelmed, scared, abandoned? Responsibility after responsibility is placed upon me!

          Your justification is you worked hard to put a roof over our heads.  So, you deserved to run off and play whenever you had the chance.  I think it’s why I’m not very good at letting myself play even to this day.  Work must get done before play.  When do I get to play?

          You wonder why all I “do” is stay at home.  You have told me more than once there’s something wrong with living in the same place for so long.  Maybe it’s because you moved so darn much when I was a kid.  But then you used that criticism to justify your move from here.  You know what it says to me?  You don’t like me very much, only what I can do for you.  And when I no longer “do” what you want, you abandon me.  I serve no purpose, other than to reinforce your narcissistic sense of being a victim to justify your actions.

          I’m torn between anger and the continual pain of betrayal.  After all I’ve done for you over the years you choose to betray and lie about me.  Why?  Oh, I can rationalize the answer, but deep inside I still want my mom to want me for me.  And instead you reject me once again.  Over and over and over you use, judge and reject me.

          You’ve tried, my whole life, to mold me into your image of me.  A better version of yourself, so that you can indulge in your narcissism and justify acting as you want regardless of the consequences to me. Knowing that doesn’t make me feel better. I used to be able to rationalize the cause and effect of you and get over the damage you’d done emotionally. Because after all, that’s the way you are and always have been so buck up and accept the inevitable. 

          Instead I’m left to work through the trauma you have drilled into my soul.  You refuse to see or admit your culpability.  Sometimes I want to scream!  Tell people to shut up and quit trying to tell me what I should do or who I should be, so they can stay in their comfort zone.  I’ve been burdened with that, when it comes to you mother, my whole life and I want to be done with it!

          Mother you are a selfish raging narcissist! As much as I hate saying this; I have to for my mental well-being! You did not deserve me for a daughter!  Sam calls you a whore, because he has respect for prostitutes and doesn’t want to insult the profession by calling you one.  Jennifer doesn’t want anything to do with you and longs for the day you are gone.  So, what does that say when your children infamously are done with you?

          My emotions have been held in captivity far too long!  I want to be set free.  I wrestle with being willing to let tears of grief flow because of or for you.  I believe I need to grieve for me, not you!  Grieve for that child in me you never let be, so neither did I.  You created in me a type of pain that few will ever understand, myself included.  But I’m working on it!

            Melisa stopped, her shoulders stiff from more than just the typing.  She flexed her fingers then rubbed her eyes.  She knew there was more to unbury, just not now.  For today she was done.