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When I graduated high school, my mom moved to another state. I lived with my dad for the summer before I went to college. The first night I was there, I curled up in a blanket and we watched a movie. He brought me a glass of water. I cried when he handed it to me.
It's hard to explain why that would make me cry. It just was such a relief. Ever since my parents got divorced, I lived with my mother (her choice, not mine). My last years in high school were spent alone in a one bedroom apartment with her.I got the makeshift living room "bedroom" with no privacy. I had a makeshift door too. It sort of covered my living space, but even so, but I wasn't allowed to close it, unless I wanted her asking "what I was doing back there." What's the point of a door if someone's going to open it whenever it's closed?
I took care of her. She was sick-- depressed. She slept. She watched TV. She scolded me. That was the dynamic. I never did the dishes right, or the laundry, or anything else according to her (even though I was the one doing all of it). I panicked every time she came home. Are the dishes done? Is the house tidy? Did I forget to do something she asked me to? Even when the physical to do list was checked off, her mental to do list was not. Why wasn't I talking to her? I must be in a bad mood. What about the floor, did I sweep? Didn't I see the trash outside? Why didn't I bring it in? Why didn't I conform to expectations that were unknown to me and wholly unattainable to begin with? Why wasn't I perfect?
I worked as much as possible; the more time I spent away from home, the better. When I graduated top of my class, she saw my report card and said "I could do that." It's hard to explain how heart breaking it is to be the most perfect child you can be and *still* not be able to make your mother happy. She called what she gave me "love," but was always "fear." It was conditional on my good behavior. The worst part is, no matter how good I was, no matter how much I worked at my job, got good grades, had good hobbies, it was never enough.
Staying with my dad and having him take care of me was just so foreign. I forgot what being parented and truly loved felt like. He brought me the water because he wanted to; he wanted to make sure I wasn't thirsty. He didn't expect anything in return. He didn't make me feel guilty for "all that he does for me." It was just love and I forgot what that really felt like. I could relax in that moment. I could breathe.
"Thanks for the water, dad."
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This brought me to tears. Sending my love to you. ❣️
ReplyI'm so happy for you
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