On one hand numbness has left only exhaustion and I can’t wait to just lie down and close my eyes.  On the other I know I will dream and if last night’s was any indication – I’d really rather not.  Bad dreams (of my childhood and my first marriage) come back when I am overtired.    

My childhood was not idyllic.  My Mother has never loved me – she’s made a point to tell me that more than once.  I am and remain a disappointment to her – foreign – she comforts herself with the notion that I am her cross to bear sent by God.   I am the eldest and should have been a boy (according to my Father).  Not being so made me useless except to work and make babies in his book.  Mother redeemed herself in my Father’s eyes by producing 4 boys in rapid succession and then another girl.  Her girl – a pink and blonde carbon copy of herself – a girly girl who thankfully inherited and could appreciate my old pink bedroom.  (To this day I HATE baby-girl-pink.).  Up until about a year and a half ago – my brothers and I were close, we were all we had growing up – safety in numbers.  My brothers and myself (as the rest of the family as well) are all very different  strong individuals who often discuss at the tops of our lungs.  Perhaps because of that - despite our differences ‘family stuck together’.  Or at least we used to.  In the aftermath of a personal issue involving trust and betrayal – we’ve not spoken for almost 2 years.  I was in fact disowned and I severed ties to them.  I told myself they were dead to me because by doing so I could prevent more pain – theirs and mine.  It was like cutting off my arm, cutting out my heart not to be able to see my nieces and nephews.  My brothers and Mother knew it.  It was emotional blackmail of the worst sort for which I doubt I could ever fully forgive them.  Chalk it up to the witch or the woman in me. 

Our family has always been ruled directly or indirectly by women.  When I was young it was my Father’s mother Nana – 4 ft 9 of pure southern Georgia steel magnolia of Irish descent.  She raised 12 kids – 6 her husband’s by his first wife.  After she passed and my Father’s death, my mother inherited that role by default.  I kept the Sunday family dinners at my house – I did the birthdays and the thanksgivings, the Christmases, the Halloweens – it was expected and at first I loved doing them because I loved my family.  It was a way of keeping Nana’s traditions alive and her as well.  I have no doubt that another part of it was still seeking my parents’ approval and love.  It’s taken me years to realize and accept that won’t ever happen.   Since I can’t please them I’d better learn to please myself. 

When Aaron called me I was at first convinced that something was horribly wrong.  Our Mother had died or something terrible had happened to one of the kids.  Instead it was to convince me to donate my time and efforts to a party for our Mother.  They didn’t know anyone else who would do it for nothing.  Out of pure habit – ingrained reflex I ended up doing it.  I think I was so thrown at him calling that it knocked me off of my feet.  It didn’t sink in until after he hung up that he hadn’t said one thing about any of the kids, or even ask me how I’d been - the conversation revolved entirely around Mother and her party.  I told myself that it was a small price to pay to see my nieces and nephews again.  I love them dearly.  I’d even see my brothers and my cousins and their children (the grands) as they are called – 4 generations together.  It might be my last opportunity to do so – given my upcoming relocation in March.  I took my camera.  From all accounts the party was a success.

I saw the kids….how they’ve grown and matured.  Strange not to be part of their lives on a daily basis.  Royce avoided me the entire time.  Julie hugged me – said she missed our girly outings – she’s dyed her hair in magenta stripes.  Aaron’s Michael introduced me to his son Davin – he and Jennifer are separated now.  It was a shock to see how well they have all done without me.  On one hand it comforts me to know that they can – on the other I am pissed at myself (and them) for not doing this years ago – I let them use me and I’ve no one else but me to blame for it. 

In the kitchen afterwards Aaron was almost his old self.  Could have been the whiskey – maybe not.  I think he saw the marching of time on the faces around us too – we are in our early 50’s – a few more years and it will be our 75th birthday.  How many of these will be alive then?  Sean didn’t speak to me – just pretended I wasn’t there which given our last argument, was just fine by me.  Better silence than harsh words gutting each other like fish.  Patrick hugged me and cried when I left – the whiskey again probably.  I miss him sometimes the most – he could always make me laugh even in the darkest of times – my brother the Bard.

As for Mother – she was delicately pale as always, her hair now silver white.  Her health has not been good and for that – I was glad that I came – too see her fragility with my own eyes and yet just as unyielding, living in the Pollyanna place where nothing ugly ever enters that can’t be cured by a platitude.  One of the pictures we had up was her wedding picture.  I remember what it was like living with my Father – perhaps that fact alone should make me more understanding of what forces shaped my Mother into what and who she is – trapped between him and her own cold, demanding mother…but I’m tired of making excuses, finding reasons to justify her treatment of me.  I am now her only daughter – that should count for something.  She is the parent and I am the child – it shouldn’t be the other way around when you are growing up. 

Bottom line - I am glad I did go, even if it brought back a lot of old feelings, old hurts and newer ones.  And no – I am not naive enough to believe that by doing this that it will magically make the relations between my brothers and I go back to what it was or even change one thing.  This was something I did for my own reasons.