I found my mother’s cards. The ones she sent to me when I left for college. When I thought I had left for good. They’ve all begun to fade. All of them, but one, were repurposed from cards she saved over the years. Some old birthday cards, graduation cards, and one newer get-well card. Old messages scribbled out, replaced by short phrases followed by “mom”. “the weather is nice”, “find peace with god”, and “keep secrets close”. I hated that I thought nothing of the get-well card at the time. I’ve been wondering if it was her way of letting me know she was sick. I know it’s not good to dwell. It’s really fucking hard to hate your mom when she dies of brain cancer. When everytime she hit you or yelled at you, there’d be brief moments when she was back. When she’d apologize. I hate that I can’t hate her. Whether it was her fault or not, she still hurt me. This twisted guilt and shame still dose. Many may label it cruel, but I think I need to be angry. Need to let myself be angry if I ever want to let go. If I ever want to let myself free.
One card is just a folded piece of card stock that says “I’m proud of you” signed “love mom” on the inside, accompanied by a poorly drawn heart. I think I’ll keep this one. I’m uncertain how proud she’d truly be. Of a daughter who hides instead of truly living. Despite my feelings, I want to be someone she’d truly be proud of. Live a life I’d be proud of.