The youngest of four children, the only girl. The child they tried to have over and over again. Here I appeared. It had been 19 years since I touched the woman who gave me life. 19 years since she actually acknowledged me being a person and alive. Responding to me. I got to touch her arm, the same arm that used to pull back and hit me, attached to those same hands. My mother. I do not know and may never know exactly why she gave up on me. I know I cramped her style as she wanted to start her new life without my Dad. But never caring or kind. I never got any of that from her.
So I hold onto a touch, a belief that maybe, just maybe this woman who gave me life once loved me. As she clearly has not for more than half of my life. One touch, that is all I have, it was a kind touch, from a little girl to her mom, begging to have all things made right between us. Begging her to love me and accept me. I could have said all the things that I am doing, but I knew what they would be met with. Disdain and disinterest. The vain of my existence bothered her. The fact that I lived through her abuse is a pure miracle. Her nights of drinking and coming home to take it out on me. It would have been easier to process if she ever had any conseguence to how she treated me. But she didn’t. She didn’t care to be there for me, help me raise my kids, be there when I was a single mom. She was not there. She did not have my back. She was not the person I could call for help in anything.
Thrown away. Like the ex’s did, the first one left state to go back to his mom. Second one did the same thing. I just wanted to feel the love of my mom before she was gone. I have to accept the fact that my existance does not matter to her. Hoping and wishing is not going to change her. I know I have done all that I can. Still hurts so much. Would be a dream for this little girl to be able to not only have a mother’s touch, but to be able to just fully surrender and be transparent with anyone. I have none of that now. My reality is that the love of a mother who has deserted you since the age of 16 years old. Not only deserted me, but physically abused me is part of my past. At this point, at my age, it just doesnt get fixed.
My reality is, the little girl needs a mom’s touch, but it will never be what I need from the mom who gave me life. She is not capable. She never was. She was not the one excited about having a girl, my father was. And maybe it was just the pressure of having so many boys. After their divorce, the children did not matter to either of them. It was about the money and who got what. The children were discarded. Being a mom is the hardest unrewarding job a woman will ever have. I hope my touch to my children means something to them. One can only hope and pray that it does.
Quiet Intensity 