Boxes of memories

I wasn’t sure if I was going to write about this aspect of my life but I think I will. In the last couple of weeks I’ve received boxes from both of my Parents. The one from my Dad was expected and and I was very excited to receive it because I knew it was my Grandma’s cookbooks and recipe box. The other one was a box from my Mother, completely unexpected and filled with every picture of me from birth to now that I think she had.

I’ve had a tumultuous relationship with both of my parents at different times in my life. My Dad and I have the best of relationships now but there was a time I didn’t speak to him for quite a few years and as for my Mother, well we are currently estranged. In fact she and I haven’t spoken since December of 2015. This isn’t the first time that my Mother and I have gone for long periods of not speaking to each other, it’s definitely the longest, but not the first. I have learned over the years that people aren’t perfect. I know I’m not. We make mistakes. I’m willing to forgive imperfections in myself and others. Then there are the people in your life that at some point you just have to put your hands up and say enough. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t be around you, which means sometimes you just have to walk away. It’s a very difficult thing to do. I will be quite candid as a young woman and young mother I cut my Dad out of my life over things that didn’t really even matter, but I was a hot head. I have had strained relationships with my brother, my sister and even my Aunt. For me it was easier to just back away and stay on my side of the country, essentially bury my head in the sand as my Mother used to say. But I grew up. I raised my son to the best of my abilities. I married a wonderful man who showed me what it means to be loved and cherished. What it means to face the most incredible loss a parent can face and still be strong, even when broken. He showed me forgiveness for my moments of stupidity and most of all he showed me it was okay to say you are wrong and to ask to be forgiven. He has always supported me no matter what. He helped me be brave. When I turned 40 I decided to make some big changes in my life with his help and one of those was to heal the rift with my father.

My dad and I were estranged because I too often didn’t feel loved by him or important to him, but as I raised my own child I realized that even when it’s hard to show, you always love your children. I finally realized that he loved us then the best way he could and he loves us now the best way he can. I enjoy talking with him as an adult instead of that little girl who was hurt that she didn’t seem important enough. My mother is a different story, I’ve found it’s always easy when you have a powerful and controlling parent to let them be your whole world and not understand the other parent loves you even if they show it differently. My Mother is strong. She has gone through lot in her life. She knows who she is and how she wants to live her life. It isn’t often that people are so sure about who they are and remain uncompromisingly true themselves. Because she is so black and white, she doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t admit when she gets it wrong. If you try to explain to her why you are doing something it’s wrong unless you’re doing it her way. We have often butted heads because I was very emotional growing up and she just didn’t have time for that. I just wanted to be loved and while I know she loved me, she wasn’t affectionate. She worked hard as a single mother and because of that we spent a lot of time apart from her. As I grew into a teen we clashed because I wanted some freedom from her controlling nature. She wanted me to do things another way. After I had my son I relied on her a lot, but I was a baby myself and she made it easy for me to rely on her. The thing is that her help wasn’t the “no strings attached” type. I was always expected to be the person who took care of her house, animals and property. Which I did and I appreciated her help, until I didn’t any longer. When you try to stand on your own after someone has controlled you for a long time, the controller doesn’t like it. We clashed because she thought she was one of my son’s parents and got to make the rules. We clashed because she didn’t like who I dated or how I handled my relationships. We then clashed about her relationships and how she felt the need to put me in the middle. Finally we clashed over the way she treated my son and my husband. The last time was like Thunder and Lightening, we clashed so hard that I walked away. I haven’t spoken to her since. I haven’t emailed her unless she emailed me, I haven’t texted her, I don’t follow her on Social Media. I’m not even sure where she lives.

Then I get the box with the pictures. There was no note or explanation, nothing. I felt like it was the end stage of a break up and that it must be my turn to pack up all of her things and send them back. It was just bizarre. I couldn’t figure out why she would be sending all of these pictures now. But instead of getting angry I looked through the pictures and pulled a few out and shared my memories with my husband. I’m not sure if she was looking for attention or she wanted me to feel sorry for her but I decided I’m not going to worry about it. I’m not going to play into whatever game she has going on. I’m not going to take the bait. In fact after writing this, I don’t intend to bring the issue up again. That is why this saying struck me. I think a lot of us play victim to situations we have created on our own and try to blame other people. I’m done being a part of anyone’s game. Instead I’m going to just look at the box as a box and look at the pictures as the memories they are and leave it at that. ♥