Monday, November 26, 2012

Driving to work today, I was not completely satisfied with the story told last night. I just feel this urge within me to add details that to me are so important. Details to indicate how vindictive she was. I guess that is my demon. My need for validation.

Since I became a mother, my tolerance for her nonsense have dwindled. I have different priority and pleasing her is not top of my list. And she knows that. But over her dead body will she ever admits that was acceptable. This child of mine has come between her and access to my money. She can't use him to guilt me to give her more money. She will never say anything to give implication that she rather the money go to her and not to the child. She will never say anything that will make her look bad. So, what does she say? She merely let me know with a dash of "empathy" that I should not have another child because "it was so difficult." By then, I'm not buying her words anymore. I don't remember feeling hurt but I was more annoyed.

Maybe that's all I have to add......for now.
Today a dagger stabbed my soul. I cannot even remember what triggered the pain. But that is not the first time those words sliced into my heart. Three years ago I was blessed with the most beautiful son. It was such a long journey that perhaps it is a blessing that I have forgotten many of the struggles that we went through. Years of infertility and medical procedures got us no where, only to be rectified by ancient medicine. A few bags of herbs and a couple orange pills did the trick. Conceived with divine intervention and carried to full term with the help of modern medicine. A moment of sheer joy that every daughter hopes to share with her mother. For five months I was on bed rest. For five months, I took every opportunity to call and stay in contact. For five months, I kept her posted of my progress, only to be met with blatant disregard. Not once was she interested in my well-being. Let only the well-being of this innocent life that was being formed within me. There was no interest of the possibility of potentially losing this child, just like the previous one. There was no interest in the potential of medical complications that could take my life, just like the previous one. Every conversations were steered towards their financial needs. There was no regards about my financial well-being. The reality that I had to stop work. The reality that I had bills to pay. The reality of the cost of medical expenses if something did go wrong. None of my reality matters. With every "request" for money, I was ever so careful not to hurt her feelings. I was ever so careful to try to make her understand why I cannot afford to give her any at that time. She never did understand, nor did she ever try to comprehend. I steered every request and often demand for money, with neutral subjects. I talked about things that I was hoping that we could relate. I talked about my pets. We talked about gardening, about cooking. All things that she liked. Who knew, with someone like her, no topic is ever neutral. Every topic can be turned around as a topic of contention, which I found out later.

I often say that I am a "slow learner." The signs of her narcissism is so blatantly obvious. But time and time again, I chose to listen to her plea and be intimidated by her wrath. By the time he was born, her resentment towards this child grew to no end. She did not even try to cover up her true feelings. I was as usual, an idiot that did everything within me to try give her opportunity to be a part of my son's life. I made sure I video tape every event so that she can see him. I took pictures of him and upload them on a regular basis. I didn't want her to miss a moment of his life. From the day he was born, I spoke our mother tongue with him, with the hope that he will be able to communicate with his grandparents. But every attempt to share the moment was met with a cold shoulder. I finally got the message loud and clear, when she said it was too much hassle for her to go upstairs and have the computer turned on to see her grandson in response to my query about the photos I sent. It was these words that triggered the hurt today.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

She always wanted her story told in some shape or form. The content was completely centered around her. About her. Glorifying her sacrifices.
 As I stood intently listening, I was probably six or seven then. That was my first memory of that being said but that is not the last time she uttered those words. Words ingrained so deep in my soul that it took years to unravel. We were her army of support. Three little children and me being the youngest. Burden was upon us to comfort her. To give her pride. To give her reason to live. The fault is dad primarily and the reason for cover up is always God. There were many times we circled around her as little children and hear her sob about how she wished she never had us. She regretted having us because she didn't want us to suffer. She would never admitted that she probably felt trapped. She always had a fascinated way to twist things around to make it sound ok. It always sounded so genuine.   I looked, I listened, and worst of all, I believed.
For years I wanted to write her book. I wanted her story told but I never imagined that this would be the story that I am telling and I am sure that this is not the story she would want me to tell.

Here is my side of  the story.