To Mom
Do you think it's a competition? A game? A meet to see who can win the most affection?
Because it's not. It never was, never will be.
You don't take the time to ask why. Does why not matter anymore? Do you care about why?
I do. I care.
You repeat your claim over and over. You worked. You made ends meet. Do you think I don't know? Do you think I am incompetent? Do you honestly believe that your work has anything to do with me? My feelings. My brain. My emotions.
Because I understand now, but that five year old who waited for you to come home didn't. She was in the dark. She was lonely and confused.
Did you ask how I felt when I woke up and found you not in bed or by my side, listening to your breathing? When Grandma was the only one there?
I felt like she was protecting me until you got back.
Did you ask how I felt when you claimed you were tired of us, wanted us to leave? Did you ask how I felt when you said we didn't care, we're lazy? Did you ask how I felt all those sleepless nights?
I felt like there was one person, one who has never gotten tired of me no matter how many hours spent listening to boring biographies. No matter how long we spent in bed. No matter how long I was in my own world.
And now do ask how I feel when the sickening sweet smell of marijuana invades my nose? How about the tobacco that attacks my lungs? Or maybe the beer that you know I hate the smell of? Do you ask how I feel when you don't acknowledge that I have done something? That I've gotten straight A's and you only smile smugly?
No, you don't. It's expected. A must. Anything less is a disappointment.
Do you know that those shoes have not been worn by any of us? Do you know that while some kids were having fun I studied? I didn't go out. I sat at home like a good child. I don't sneak out. I don't smoke or drink or sleep around.
Do you ask about the stress? Not the classes, but the stress this puts on me? Do you ask at any point in the day why I'm so tired? Why I'm always tired? Why my head always aches?
No, you don't. It's okay. No one really does.
But you know what? Grandma asks when I call if it's gotten better. It hasn't, but I tell her it has anyway. She doesn't think it's a competition because it's not.
Why don't you understand that? Why don't you understand that I hate it when you say things like that? Why do you insist on something false?
Yes, she's a child and poor at taking care of herself. Yes, she has a vivid imagination and terrible budgeting. Yes, she does ridiculous things. But can you say she's as horrible as she was a decade or so ago? Can you say she hasn't tried in the slightest? Can you say that there is nothing in my grandmother worth loving?
I am tired of competing. For time. For grades. For money. For life.
Are you tired, Mother?
