I Didn’t Call You

I Didn’t Call You

Dear Mom,

It was Monday, but I didn’t call you. I knew if I did call, we would have that same old conversation. You would tell me about your wonderful children, the ones who cater to you every day while you sit with your kitty on your lap. Then you’d tell me that’s what happens when you get old. You’d chuckle and say “You’ll see” while I’d hold my breath and choke on the pain. After that, you’d ask me if I still lived in Seattle and when I would be back to visit, just like your wonderful children do. I’d explain my circumstances to you once again, fight back the tears and say goodbye.

I decided that I’ve been feeling too good to risk making that phone call. I understand that guilt will begin to eat away at me, but it’s far less damaging than the pain of having that recurring conversation with you. I’ve worked very hard to reach this point in my recovery and I realize I’m fragile right now. I am cautiously trying out this peaceful attitude like a new pair of shoes. I need to sort of break myself in and make sure I stay as comfortable as I felt when I first tried on the “new me” shoes.

I’m sorry that you don’t hear from me as often as others and I hope you understand why. But honestly, I think it’s too late for us to have this conversation because I think your failing cognitive skills would leave us both frustrated anyway.

I’ll try to call you next Monday, or maybe the one after that. So many things are happening in my life and there is so much I’d like to say to you. But most of all, I’d just love to say that I would have believed you when you were traumatized. I would have held you, comforted you and told you that no matter what I would always love and be there for you.

But for now, I will leave you in the capable care of your children.

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