This story.

This story, my story is the story of my journey as the daughter of a woman who chose not to be my Mama in her head and who has lived that dream for a long time. Growing up as the daughter of such a woman, stopped me cold in my tracks at two days old. The world I grew up in was the world created for me by society, to somehow to provide for me without her. Society, as I have lived this life, has not planned as well as they though. Taking or removing me from this kind of woman, only made her more addictive to me. It made everything about her. To know yourself, and to face a woman who’s like you and you like her, and yet not?, is quite illuminating. And as I am finally actively grieving her loss, the loss of what would have been between us, I realize I’ve not grieved the loss of who I would be now if she had kept me. I grieve for my self so I can let go of what never came to be with me and she. If my Mama’s with-it, she’ll do the same. She and I can’t go back to the point we entered into being related again and she can’t be my Mama, like that. We have no memories except those of 25 years to build from which is not a lot if you think about it. We are beyond our past. Now. When Mama and me met, a whole lot of hunk began to surface in me. I cried about her and was emotional. And yet I struggled to understand why and Mama seemed to not want to know why? I felt dirty around her and yet I knew I wasn’t. I knew how I felt and what my inner child wished to express to this woman. I wanted her to know my truth, so it could set her free. To be my Mama who made me and who did not raise me. Evidently that is a tall order? Who knew being a friend was so hard for a woman you came from? Yet. Here she and I are. Our biggest fight ever. Daughter and Mama, boundaries being set and torn down. Mental ware fare and challenging beliefs. Sounds like a Teenage rebellion? Developmentally, yes. We are moving though the stages at breakneck speed. It’s like God’s turned up the dial on us and we need to get through this and Mamas still packing her bags and repacking and packing again. And I wait. And I am not going back up there I’ve gone three times. It’s her turn. It’s not that hard. Just pack some things. Bring Vicki and the dogs. And drive down to Williams and get a motel. And we can meet at Granzella’s for pizza and beer. And begin. It’s that easy. The girls can come too. And it is quite exciting an event. And should be treated as such. There all many angles here. Mama, adopted Mama, children, sisters, cousins, brothers, nieces and nephews. This is as bad as it gets for me. Writing my feelings on a blog. Is that just sooooo scary? I’ve looked at as many angles as God has given me to look at. The rest is up to you all to fill me in. And I’ll take it like you give it. I am your sister and don’t plan on going away. So let’s begin. Victoria has a moment right here if she can see it past her resentments towards me? Let’s hope she gets on her train and sees this window.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s