Talking it out

I remember wanting you to hold me and being frightened when you yelled. I didn’t want to be left alone with you and I hated your control games.

I remember hearing your conversation with a friend in the car when you thought I was asleep. I was about 13 or 14 at that point. You told her you had always loved me, of course, but hadn’t liked me for many years. You were trying to show her that kids need to be accepted and allowed to be who they are, so you were talking about how you learned it. I’m glad, now, that I helped you figure that out, but it just kinda hurt at the time. Having an independent child who wanted to think for herself and didn’t want to discuss her feelings with you must have been challenging for you. It often felt as though you saved the best of yourself for everyone outside our family and we were left with the anger, frustration, and unpleasantness. There were wonderful momentstoo though, and good memories.

I felt like you spent my childhood pushing me away and my teen years yanking me at close as possible and I didn’t like that. I knew you loved me though, and that I had your support. It meant so much to have your support with some of the craziness that happened in the school and church during my high school years.

I remember when I noticed you were asking my opinion on things and repeating it to others. It felt so good that you admired how and what I thought and valued my input. I think that was the beginning of feeling healed. You asked me to forgive you for the hurt you caused me as well, and how could I not?

By the time we were expecting our first child you were so wonderful. It was like you were growing into the mature, wise, kind, generous person you were always meant to be. Thing One had an awesome gramma. You were amazing to the people around you, to me, and especially to my son. You lost over 100 pounds and your selfishness and discontent seemed relagated to the past.

When Thing Two was on the way you had your first breast cancer diagnosis. Your gratefulness journal really helped you find a way through that process that was graceful, and strong. I was so impressed. It was a scary time but then you had it beat, and we were so relieved.

In June of 1999 you had your first seizure. In November you were diagnosed and told you couldn’t drive anymore. All the negative emotion you had channeled and handled so well before seemed to start pooling and overwhelming you. That horrible cancer support group seemed to just make things worse, not better. The seizures seemed to actually change your personality, and the emotional effects contributed to what seemed like regression. Gradually, it seemed nothing anyone gave was quite good enough, people didn’t visit as much as they could, nothing was quite enough for you.

By 2006, when your breast cancer reappeared, your memory loss and other troubles seemed to provide you excuse for many behaviors I had seen you overcome. In 2008, the cancer spread to your brain. It was the beginning of the end and I cannot imagine how it felt from your perspective. I only know what I saw and felt. I reminded myself constantly  that change was not something I could expect from you.

The last two years were exhausting, emotionally and finally physically as well. Thank you for always loving us, no matter anything else, with all your heart you loved us, and the rest was just details.