I just haven’t had it in me. It all started going down hill around October. First, I turned 29, then 6 days later my grampa dies, then 6 days later, my gramma dies, then 6 days later, my sister turned 33. Three plus three is six. I’m starting to see a trend. My brother was the first to see it. In numerology, 6 is the number for responsibility. I feel responsible for keeping the family going. My mom can’t do it. She’s too busy fighting with her brother. In all fairness, he deserves it. There’s a lot of mistrust and people acting like you’d never have expected them to. Shadiness and spite. I can’t imagine any of my siblings acting this way when our parents die. Dad said we won’t have to worry about it. It makes me sick, the way my uncle is acting. My mom can’t/won’t stand up to him. I also can’t imagine reacting to one of my siblings the way she is. Caving in, avoiding confrontation when you know it’ll do no good.
Nate and I were at her house the other day. She said she’d been reading the little notes my grandmother had written in her bible. In one of those notes, she’d mentioned her mother, my great grandmother, she said they never had a very close relationship. So mom asks me what I think about that. “I dunno what you’re trying to say, mom.”
“Well, my mom and I were never really close. I mean, I love her, but, it’s not like I think I would have ever been her friend if I had known her in a different context. And, with your sister, we’re not that much alike, but I always thought you and I were.” There it was again. That reminder that I’m just like her. No matter what I do or how hard I try to change, it’s inevitable that I turn into her. Even she thinks so. “So, I mean, do you think that if I wasn’t your mother, you’d still be my friend?”
All at once, I’m taken back to that moment when I’d tried to be her friend. Tried to let her in. She’d told me then that she was put on this earth to be my mother, not my friend. I could still see her eyes, glossy behind her thick glasses, her hair wild and unbrushed. I can still smell the odor of cheap beer on her breath. ‘No I wouldn’t be your friend, you dumb bitch!’ my mind screamed. I dipped a piece of raw broccoli into the creamy ranch dressing, and swallowed my anger along with the vegetable. “I dunno, mom. That’s kind’ve a weird question. I’ve never really thought about it like that.” I wasn’t going to bring up that night, I didn’t feel like hearing any excuses for the past. But, I also was not going to tell her that I would be her friend, I was not going to give her that satisfaction.
So, that’s what’s been going on here. I promise I’ll try and be a better blogger from now on.