April brings with it many things. Right now, mom's anniversary is almost upon me. Right now is a week before her death, and is also the anniversary of the final week of silence before her death.
April also brings with it a tremendous amount of unresolved anger over how much was stolen from me, by both of my parents, but my dad in in particular. The anger is all frothing to the top.
I am reminded of April of 1986, a couple short months before graduation, when I realized all my school mates were getting their acceptance letters for college. I remember inquiring about the four years worth of "room and board" mom insisted I kick back from my summer jobs, all with the promise she'd hold it for safe keeping so I'd have something when I graduated. Or the little bit of money nana set aside (perhaps enough to pay for books or a semester's tuition at a community college). or the 33 shares of AT&T stock aunt Jean left for each of me and my siblings.
I was two months away from graduating, and I came to the fast conclusion that I was fucked. I had no plan, and I had no hope of ever leaving my parent's home. Add to that, mom interfered with every single relationship of mine, so she also ensured I'd be behind the 8-ball, and wouldn't be able to have kids, either.
April brings with it a tremendous amount of anger and sadness--mostly with the awareness I never have lived up to my potential.
I remember them refusing outright to give me their income tax info so I could see if I qualified for student loans. And when in desperation I joined in the military, both parents had to sign off on my enlistment packet because I wasn't yet 18--mom soon had changed her mind, and was trying to get our family priest who was pretty well connected at the time, to reverse my enlistment. Why? I don't have a clue, but I can only deduce it was because she was losing control of me.
I will be 53 in August, and I am still processing this. I don't know how to accept it. I don't know how to move on from it. I feel like I am fighting a singular battle in a tissue paper bag. Should be easy enough to extricate myself, and yet the 18 year old version of me is still in there, fighting the good fight, and demanding justice.
I have gotten closer to dad's sister in the last couple years, and this was an ice breaker to her (after she mentioned something about how nana's house was to be the inheritance for her and her sister), "I don't know what I hope to come of this, but you do realize dad stole from ALL of us, right?"
I went into detail of big things and small things, of the time my sister came home from school to discover mom and dad sold the antique bed which was in her room--and they did not even have so much as an army cot for her to sleep on when she came home.
I told my aunt, "it got so bad, I knew at a very young age not to let dad know if I had money, because if I had two nickels, he'd try to screw me out of one of them."
My aunt is further along in her journey than I am. Everything I said was nothing new to her. And what she shared next, well, it did not surprise me. Sadly. She informed me when she was little and nana gave them money for birthdays or holidays or special occasions, she could keep a bit, and then her parents would say she had to "save some." Turns out, her father (my grandfather) used it to buy booze.
I am just so angry and sad and disgusted at both of my parents. I think of mom's plaintive question, "I was a good mother, wasn't I?" And my god, how the fuck was I ever supposed to answer that one honestly?
I think of every shitty thing I've done, there's a lot to be ashamed of. There was a alot I did before I even discovered this thing called self esteem or self worth. I'm sure I shared it before, but people like me made the shitty decisions I've made over the course of my life because I did not have the resources, support, or esteem which my parents should have instilled in me. I came to that realization maybe 2-3 years ago, and it still resonates with me.
Everything I am is MINE. No one groomed me. No one gave me support. These people who squeezed me and my siblings into this shitty world they didn't give me shit other than LIFE. A life I did not ask for. A life I struggle with regularly.
I have come so far from those days in April 1986--and yet at the same time, I still feel like a failure, and a parasite. That anything I have or have accomplished is because of my husband, not of my own determination.
I am so sad and angry--and hate my parents right now. I'll never get justice. And it's just as well that neither one of them have visited me in my dreams because all I'd tell them is to go fuck themselves.
