Antisera
09-23-2014, 05:56 PM
I know I haven't called you that in a while, but you wouldn't know that. After I left, at 1am on my 18th birthday, I started calling you by your first name. Things were easier that way, you know? You adopted me, and raised me, but you were my grandmother. And, if we're honest, you were pretty mentally ill, even if you tried your best.
It's been 6 months since I left and got married, mom. It's been 6 months since we'd talked. I fully intended on letting you back into my life when I was ready to handle all of your illnesses, mom, I really did. As much as I hate to admit it, I loved you. You were such an evil, hurtful person... But I love you. But, after you could see that I didn't love you unconditionally, you went on and started raising two more girls. Sure, you were awful, but not as awful as their natural parents. You raised those girls for 4 years and never once pursued legal adoption like you did with me. Why didn't you, mom?
Because, last weekend, you fell asleep at the wheel and died. You left those girls with no hope but to move 16 hours away to live with their awful, abusive natural parents. And I hate you for it. And I hate me for that. But there's nothing we can do about them, now, except wait for CPS to decide to actually do something about their abuse.
I can't stop crying, mom, and it isn't for you. I'm so scared for those girls. I'm so mad that you left us without a penny to burn your body and store it somewhere. I'm so mad that I'll never get the closure of seeing you realize all the harm you've caused, even if I'm convinced I'd have never gotten closure about that anyway.
Last night I just had nightmares about those girls. Even in my dreams I cried all night. I hope this isn't going to be a recurring dream.
I don't know where to go from here, mom. I've got so many people around me who love me, and care, and know that our relationship was strained. I'm not lacking any kind of emotional support. We're still calling churches to get donations to pay for your burner, but we'll get there. We'll be having a memorial next week, and it's all planned out. We've gone through some of your belongings, and decided to sell some nicer stuff that we don't need for monetary support. We've really been winging it, here. My (bio) mom and my sister and me. None of us expected this, and none of us knew what to do. We still don't.
As much as you complained about not being able asleep, it's damn ironic that you went out sleeping at the wheel. And, speaking of irony, after spending 17 years of my life lying to me about my (bio) mom, your death is what's made us closer than ever. And you know what? We forced you to do something good. We made you an organ donor- for every bit of you but your eyes. We'll know here soon if your organs were good enough to save a life.
I just wish I could just forget how you looked, brain dead, on those machines, mom. Nobody should have to see another human like that. Your chest was moving, but you weren't there. I don't understand open-casket funerals, mom, but you knew that.
As hard as it has been to find good things to say about you, we told the reporters what we could. You're gone now, so there's no use in continuing a game of get-backsies. We'll all be wearing your favorite color at your funeral, and the only man to love you despite your sicknesses will hopefully stay sober long enough to write something nice to say about you. Maybe one day I'll be able to do that, but not today. Today, I have a lot of healing to do.
Maybe I can write you again sometime, and tell you about how everyone is doing. Maybe I won't.
It's been 6 months since I left and got married, mom. It's been 6 months since we'd talked. I fully intended on letting you back into my life when I was ready to handle all of your illnesses, mom, I really did. As much as I hate to admit it, I loved you. You were such an evil, hurtful person... But I love you. But, after you could see that I didn't love you unconditionally, you went on and started raising two more girls. Sure, you were awful, but not as awful as their natural parents. You raised those girls for 4 years and never once pursued legal adoption like you did with me. Why didn't you, mom?
Because, last weekend, you fell asleep at the wheel and died. You left those girls with no hope but to move 16 hours away to live with their awful, abusive natural parents. And I hate you for it. And I hate me for that. But there's nothing we can do about them, now, except wait for CPS to decide to actually do something about their abuse.
I can't stop crying, mom, and it isn't for you. I'm so scared for those girls. I'm so mad that you left us without a penny to burn your body and store it somewhere. I'm so mad that I'll never get the closure of seeing you realize all the harm you've caused, even if I'm convinced I'd have never gotten closure about that anyway.
Last night I just had nightmares about those girls. Even in my dreams I cried all night. I hope this isn't going to be a recurring dream.
I don't know where to go from here, mom. I've got so many people around me who love me, and care, and know that our relationship was strained. I'm not lacking any kind of emotional support. We're still calling churches to get donations to pay for your burner, but we'll get there. We'll be having a memorial next week, and it's all planned out. We've gone through some of your belongings, and decided to sell some nicer stuff that we don't need for monetary support. We've really been winging it, here. My (bio) mom and my sister and me. None of us expected this, and none of us knew what to do. We still don't.
As much as you complained about not being able asleep, it's damn ironic that you went out sleeping at the wheel. And, speaking of irony, after spending 17 years of my life lying to me about my (bio) mom, your death is what's made us closer than ever. And you know what? We forced you to do something good. We made you an organ donor- for every bit of you but your eyes. We'll know here soon if your organs were good enough to save a life.
I just wish I could just forget how you looked, brain dead, on those machines, mom. Nobody should have to see another human like that. Your chest was moving, but you weren't there. I don't understand open-casket funerals, mom, but you knew that.
As hard as it has been to find good things to say about you, we told the reporters what we could. You're gone now, so there's no use in continuing a game of get-backsies. We'll all be wearing your favorite color at your funeral, and the only man to love you despite your sicknesses will hopefully stay sober long enough to write something nice to say about you. Maybe one day I'll be able to do that, but not today. Today, I have a lot of healing to do.
Maybe I can write you again sometime, and tell you about how everyone is doing. Maybe I won't.