To my mother-in-law, the woman who was supposed to be like a second mother to me. The woman who I was supposed to be able to look up to, and talk to, without ever doubting whether or not she cared about myself, or my feelings. You were one of the many people I dreamed of meeting as a little girl - I knew when I met the man I was going to marry, his mother would be a huge part of my life.
Well, I did meet you, and you did become a huge part of my life. But not in ways I ever dreamed. You gave me a story to tell. A hill that I cannot begin to explain what it was like to climb. You (somehow) unknowingly gave me every single example of what I hope to never be for my own children, and especially my daughter in law. Thank you for that.
You should know these things.
You are missing out. You lost everything when you pushed me away. You lost everything the moment you deserted respecting me in exchange for a heap of lies and some petty bullshit. And incase you don't already know this, your grandchildren are amazing. Generally, I wouldn't want you to know a thing about them, but they're so amazing that it would be unusual for me to not mention it. Even to you. Besides, it isn't my fault that you have to live vicariously. They are two of the most breathtaking tiny people who have ever lived, and the fact that you would ever think that your pride was worth more than having any sort of relationship with them sickens me. The simplicity of how easy it was for you to make the decision was well beyond disturbing. But how good you must feel to still be sitting there, reaping whatever benefits you feel came out of the righteousness you so selfishly inflict on others.
I do not understand you, and I probably never will. But I've come to find that I'm amongst many others. Luckily, for me, I don't have to try to figure you out anymore. I've wracked my brain many a night, wondering if I could have done something differently. Something to change the situation we find ourselves in today. Wondering how someone like you could feel so good, about such a terrible choice. How every single day you live your life as if your own son, and his beautiful children, meant nothing to you. Do tell the world what it is like to know you will only ever see your own flesh and blood through stolen social media photos, or an unexpected encounter in a store?
I guess I can say that in some ways I've forgiven you. Because I know that I deserve peace. My children deserve for their mother and father both to have that peace. And even though you aren't a part of their lives, I know that they will see a mother who tried. They will see a mother who doesn't judge them, or want to hurt them. A mother who will fight for them, no matter what it costs her. My children will see a mother who supports their wants and needs, right down to the future family they make for themselves. I will always be there for them, because any other option would be absolutely ridiculous. I guess that's where you and I are very, very different people.
Thank you for teaching me that I am stronger than I thought. That I can handle whatever life throws at me. Yes, you taught me these things. You taught me that I am not wrong to stand up for myself. You taught your son that, no matter how difficult it is to believe some days, blood doesn't always make you family. Some of the most poisonous people can come disguised as members of your very own family. Thank you for bringing the man that I get to call my husband into the world. Because I can't imagine my life without him. And I'm still trying to figure out how you're doing it.
What you've done to me personally isn't what matters. I couldn't care less about how you feel about me anymore. At one time, when I valued you, things might've been different. But not now. What you've done to your own son, and his children flabbergasts me every time. I can't wrap my head around it, and I think that's probably a good sign. I find myself making totally different decisions had I been in your position. And yes, I've put myself there many times. The result has always been the same. My kids. Their kids. And a design of respect I can't even put into words. Every. Single. Time.
It took me a very long time to realize that people like you are never meant to stick around. You're always running from something, or hiding behind the blame you so vindictively bury other people under. People like you are not good enough to be a part of the lives of my children. And I'm never going to be afraid to admit that it is pathetic, and sad. But I'm thankful that they will never have to know the pain, and I feel fortunate that our relationship was severed when they were small.
I will someday explain everything to them, in exactly the way that they happened. I will not lie, and I will not sugarcoat the past to make it seem better than it was. Because it wasn't. There was nothing good about my experiences with you. I want my boys to know that it was your choice. That you made the decision. I want them to know just how important your opinions were to you. That you could look at their innocent faces, and still walk away, because you loved yourself, and your lies, a little too much, for there to ever be room to love anyone else.
I am sorry. I am sorry that you made such a life altering decision. But I am not sorry you won't see my children grow into well-behaved, mature, young adults. You will continue to miss firsts and lasts, baseball games, birthdays, and milestones. You will miss their wedding, and the birth of their first child. You will sit behind a bottle of liquor and your computer screen, stalking, for the rest of your days, curled up in bed, feeling sorry for yourself. Blaming me. Blaming your son. Blaming the world for problems you could never take responsibility for.
At what point in life do you become so narcissistic that something like never seeing your family again is a fair trade off? At what stage of denial do you get so desperate to be right that you would rather make a point, than be a grandmother to your grandchildren. I guess I will never know.
All of the things you've done don't give you any sort of power. They don't make you a victim, and they don't make me feel sympathy for you. I can't help you to understand what you've lost. That is not my job. But I can leave you with a simple one liner. That's something we writers like to do.
I hope it was worth it.
