I am a good daughter

Her voice sounds old, worn out.

I was silent on the other end of the line while she spoke as I tried to balance this mother - daughter thing as best I could. The subject now was on how alone she was, how difficult recovery would be because of that and I could not help but to speak, things need to be said, heard. My heart opened up as sure as my mouth did and I began, "You give what you get in relationships…", and she went silent. Was that a double bladed knife I lobbed just then? Is it possible that I do this in the same way she has done all of these years and am I so well trained in this craft that I would not be aware of it until now?

Holding the receiver, I chew on this while she begins to talk again on the other end of the line.

This dance that my mother does with me, her daughter, it can be tiring. I have developed thick skin so as to better shield myself from the words she once threw, but there are still holes in my surface and she is shrewd in her conniving and I want to trust her but it comes slowly. She could get a knife in reach my heart, now open, I silently warn myself but remain the same, as she talks about an out of body experience she has had, my eyes roll and I hold my forehead while my mind is no longer there listening to her.

Finally I ask about the test results of the tumor and find out no malignancy, she tells me the tumor was 25 pounds (which I chalk up to my mothers exaggeration practices) and then she does something that caught me off guard. She mentions that she has called both my siblings much earlier in the day about the results and she knows that I know she did not call me.

She had one son and one daughter and she does not need me…

The words she had cut me with so long ago in childhood find me again, the wound freshly opened now seeping, those words echoed through my head as if it had happened, just now. My fearful and unforgiving mind goes into overdrive for a split second and suddenly all I want to do is hang up the phone and scream and throw things, like a child having a tantrum; Why am I not good enough still?! But I stayed put, took in a deep breath and listened to her talk for a while longer. I reminded myself that this is not about me, this is about her and she is getting old. I said I loved her, hope she felt better, at the end of the conversation and she said it back. We both mean it, I am sure, the only difference is we love in different ways. Just because she does not love me the way I would like her to, does not mean I cannot love her the way I need to.(I owe much thanks to my father for that gem).

Lesson Learned. Maybe it is possible that sometimes you get more than you give, but I want to believe that everything balances out in the end and I am all about balance.

At lunch, I walked on the lake shore in the burning heat a sweaty, smelly mess and strangely I felt cleansed by the sun and the heat and the sweat. Sitting on a cement slab under the sun it is easy to consider all that I have become as the boats bob up and down in the water. Slowly the words that I choose to cover the wound with on my walk back to my office were simply: "I am a good daughter."