I had promised to blog more often. I'd promised to do so daily if I could. About something. If not my books, then other things. The last blog post I have is from October 28th. I finished updating the buy links after KU released my books.
I received a call later that night informing me that my mother had passed away, from lung cancer. Or rather complications of lung cancer. She had pneumonia. They discovered that she had cancer only two weeks before and did not treat the pneumonia. She was end stage at the time of the discovery.
The thing is, my mother and I have been estranged, well, pretty much since the day I was born. I haven't seen my mother in many years. More than I can count. I haven't spoken with her in three maybe four years. The last time we spoke was the most bitter argument we'd ever had. I changed my phone number the next day.
I write about abuse and other topics. I write to deal with my demons. Demons that come from a toxic relationship with the one person you're supposed to be closest to.
I didn't know she was sick. She didn't contact any of us. She died the way she lived. Bitter. Angry. Vindictive.
I won't say she was evil. I know why she was the way she was. I know what happened to her in her life to make her the way she was. I spent my entire life trying to please her, and to understand her, and to get along with her. I took her abuse. Verbal, always verbal, sometimes physical. I won't say I was beaten as a child. I wasn't. But there were times in which her rage left me bruised. I remember four such instances, in which my father had to pull my mother off me. All before I was 18. I have such hate in me and rage and anger... and worthlessness. So much of me is what she made me to be.
I hate her. I love her. I absolutely can never forgive her for destroying my family. I hate myself because I always wanted her to love me and she never did.
I write because I have all of this anger and pain in me. I have rage that I can't even begin to reconcile.
She died. She died the way she said she would die. She left no will. She made no arrangements. She had no life insurance. She left me to deal with the fallout of her vindictiveness even in death.
I can't accept condelences. I don't feel... anything. I am not happy she's gone. I'm not sad she's gone. I'm angry that she was her bitter spiteful self even in the end.
I did what a good daughter should do. I buried her. I did. By myself.
I wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares. Nightmares that aren't real but have taken all of my childhood trauma and my adult rage and created this horror that I feel trapped in. In which I'm trapped in her insanity.
I did this, I'm a horrible daughter, I didn't check on my mother, I didn't try. I heard this. I listened to this from her closest relative. It's my fault all my fault. Ungrateful. Spoiled. Bullshit.
Her version of us, of me that she told to others to explain why we all left. It was never her. Never her. NEVER HER.
I lost my mother when I was thirteen years old. I buried her last week. And I have to live with the scars of her insanity the rest of my life.
Right now... I can't function. I have to. I have to get up and get my daughter off to school. I have to make a living. I have to pretend that I'm fine when I'm not.
I know it's grief. I know it's an extreme form of grief. I'm grieving for the life I never had and the mother I lost a long time ago. I'm angry and sad and confused.
I guess in a way I'm relieved. I'll never have to wonder if that unknown call is her just calling to tell me I'm fat and worthless again. I'll never have to worry about her dying alone in a house full of garbage and cats.
There is an end. She never saw the end of her mother's life. She never got a chance to see that evil vile woman go first. I guess I have that much. I guess in the end, she's not in pain, and maybe she found peace. In the end, she didn't break me, no matter how hard she tried. I guess that's all I have. There is no closure. There is no fixing what was broken. There is no forgiveness. It just ends.
I won't be around much for awhile. I don't know what to write about. I've tried putting on the fake happy and pretending I can go on. I have probate to deal with. I have her property to deal with. I have more than I want to deal with. So, really, it only ended for her. When I get this settled... maybe I can heal.
I'm going to try to keep the blog up. I'm going to try. Right now... I can't.