My mother died January 25, 2015. I found out about my mother’s passing two weeks later when I received an email from the bank. I don’t know if I could ever verbalize the turmoil that went on, that still goes on, inside my head.
I had shed a tear for my father but I bawled over my mother’s death.
My mother had been in my life much more often than my father but it was volatile. My father’s abuse was obvious but my mother had me fooled. Don’t get me wrong, there were times when the abuse was self-evident but she was a masterful manipulator and could pull my strings with just a few words. She had me fight her battles for her, endure the wrath of my father for her, carry the blame for a multitude of the family’s sins and all while having me convinced she was the only one in the world who was on my side.
In short, my mother hurt me more than any other abuser in my life. I trusted her more and longer than anyone else and she, in turn, betrayed me at every chance. My realization of this fact was fairly new when I found out about my mother’s passing so I was still very angry with her at the time. I hadn’t had the years of dealing with our relationship the way I had with my father.
I loved my mother. When she was good...she came across as an awesome person. When she wasn’t good...she did things a mother should never do.
Betrayal is the one and only word that continuously comes to mind.
And all that anger? It’s still there. However, for the first time in my life it’s a good thing and here’s why.
Since the day I found out about my mother’s passing, I have been trying to romanticize her and our relationship. There’s this saying, “Don’t speak ill of the dead.” That’s nice and all but it was unfair in my case. To gloss over the things she did invalidated the decisions I made in order to deal with her.
Basically it came down to this, if my mom was so great then why did I end all contact with her? Why did I feel so much anger for her? Why wasn’t I there for her?
This thought process halted both my healing and grieving process.
I love my mom but she was a monster who, depending on what she needed from me, was either a charming human being or my worst, living nightmare. To have a relationship with her I had to purposely try to forget the things she had done to me. It wasn’t healthy then and it isn’t healthy now.
The fact is, I can still love my mom and be mad at her at the same time. Humans are complicated creatures that way. I can forgive those who have committed crimes against me but not wish to be around them. My mother and father’s family can be angry with me for doing what I had to do but the fact is, when a child is abused and the rest of the family refuses to get involved, they emotionally abandon that child.
And for those of us who have lost someone who was abusive to us - it’s okay to hate them a little for a little while. It’s okay that your memory of them isn’t as pleasant as others’ memories of them. It’s okay for an abusive person’s loved ones to be angry with us; it’s their stunted way of avoiding their grief or protecting their memory.
It’s also okay to still love them no matter what they did as long as we understand we must always love ourselves enough to stand up and say, “I do not deserve this,” and walk away.
And...It’s also not only okay but absolutely imperative that we remember them exactly as they were; not because we’re holding on to the pain but because we need to remember why we made the choices we made.
Now I can grieve my mother’s passing the way I should have a year ago.
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