A Cold Hard Fact

She: Are you still there?

Me: Yes. It's been such a busy holiday. I've had no time or space to write. Until now.

She: Keep telling your story.

Me: I will. I want to. The more I write, the more I remember. I thought I'd only have one page of memories about mum. Thought I didn't really have much to say about her. But there's a lot. I keep remembering more and more.

She: How is it feeling?

Me: I am feeling more compassionate, less hateful. Less resentful. I feel like I'm seeing things for what they were. What they are.

She: And what is that?

Me: Just people, trying to make sense of themselves, trying to make the best of their lives. Dealing with their pain and insecurities. Trying to be happy. Not having a bloody clue about anything. Screwing up. Kind of like my life!

She: Good observation.

Me: Through all of this, I am confronted with a tough fact. I didn't love my mother, or even like her. Still don't. I was afraid of her and alienated from her. I couldn't speak honestly to her, couldn't let her see who I really was. The relationship was based on survival tactics and pretense. That makes me really sad. It's like a huge hole. I've known it forever. I've just always tried to ignore it, think it doesn't matter. Maybe it doesn't matter. Who knows? What good can come of not liking or loving your mother? What possible reason could there be for that? What fix, cure? Does there need to be one? I don't know what to do with this cold hard fact. I can't make myself feel something I don't feel. This might explain why I've been so hard on myself, so tough.

She: It's harder to love yourself when you don't know parent love. Much harder. But not impossible. You just need to work at it a bit harder at it.

Me: 110%?

She: You're good at that.
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I feel quite shitty writing this. Not angry, just mean and low. Like I failed at something utterly fundamental. And now, suddenly, I remember:

One day a year or two ago, I was walking on Oreti Beach (the beach near Invercargill where I was born and grew up), and knew that I had chosen this birth. I had chosen to be born into this environment, this time, and to these parents. It wasn't some flash of light epiphany. It was just a knowing. I chose this. All of it. For a reason. And that reason was to crack my fucking egg open!
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