For My Mother: A monologue (a tad bit autobiographical no big deal)

You make it seem as if this was easy for you. But I can't tell because I don't know you anymore.

We've never talked about it. Not once. We pretend as if it never happened. We act as if you still live around the corner, as if you're still a part of my life. You like to think that you are; you stick your hands in where they don't belong. You preach to me about how I should live my life, who I should be friends with; you set rules as if you're here to enforce them. But you're not here. And I don't hate you for that. I know you have other things to do; you have a child, a job, a life of your own. You have your whole world wrapped up in that town. I just wish that somewhere in that equation you had considered me. What I want. But of course you didn't because your choices are never about any one else.

You know what I wanted? I wanted you to stay, but I couldn't ask you to. You needed to go and I wasn't about to be your sacrifice. The thing preventing you from a better life.

Now, I come to see you, and there's always something different. She's grown, you have a new car, the yard is rearranged, and I missed it. I don't get to be a part of it. I miss the fighting, I miss being angry at you and I miss having you to depend on. But I can't anymore. Because I'm just a visitor. And it feels like the less I see you, the more I lose myself. I'm not the same person anymore mom. I don't know who I am. I don't blame you, I need you to know that I don't blame you. I just… I can't help that it hurts every once in a while. It hurts that it seems as if I did something to make you feel like I didn't care about you. As if I wanted you out of my life. Sometimes I think that it was my brother who forced you to leave because he chose to live with Dad and you just assumed that it was my preference as well. But I wasn't. It still isn't. I'm just living in his house by accident and we both know it.

It hurts that I barely think about you. It's like you were never here. I love you and I know that you love me too and that you miss me. I'm not stupid. I understand why you can't talk about it, because I'm just like you. We'll never address it. It will be behind everything we do, but we'll never face it.

If you still lived here I would probably hate you. But at least I would have you. You would be standing beside me, and you would make me feel like I am capable of being anything, becoming who I want to be. Right now I'm sinking to the bottom mom, and I can't ask you to help me because I don't know what's wrong and I wouldn't know how to begin. All I know is that we love each other, and that's all we need right?