Bridges

I've been visiting myself as a ten year old. Letting her talk, since she knows my story to date, but my memories of her are a bit shaky. I want her to like where her life will go, I want her to be pleased with my journey.

She wanted to be a famous actress, without clearly knowing what that meant. She wanted out of Detroit, away from the father that she would come to loathe much more very soon. She wanted adventure and world travel and success. I've lived up to that in spirit, if not specifics.

I think she would really love that at least twenty people from all over the globe read my words. (That's you, bless you all.) I know she would love Moby. And she would adore D, without question. She would, with some explanation, understand my changes in job choices, and be a bit impressed at my military experience.

She'd have wanted me to do more when I was still young, parachuting, mountain climbing, surfing, river rafting - which I have not done, never will now. She would be afraid of being without a mother during her lifetime, and I would have to reassure her that she will be fine when the time came.

I'm glad she paid such attention, and watched so carefully for truth without flinching. She kept an open mind when there was no advantage to it, and no small amount of pain involved. She loved and trusted and dared, over and over, when perhaps she should not have, but what the hell.

She would be best pleased that I swear like the soldier that I was. She would love that she gets to have sex with more than one guy. She would love that she eventually finds real, generous love, and authority in her work, and a few excellent friends. She would worry that I drink at all.

I'm imagining myself sitting on the edge of the bathtub as mum is about to tell me something, when my father chimes in from the kitchen "I'M DEAD." This is a half true story, when my beloved uncle died when I was 19, my father butted in on my mother telling me by blurting out "Walt's dead." Charming. On the other hand, while I still grieved, my mother berated me telling me I had no right to mourn, he was HER brother. When I was a child I saw it as only my father, since he was the one shouting at me. But during the longest estrangement, I began to see that it was my mother as well, if in a quieter role.

I could not see any of that at ten. COULD not, should not, needed desperately not to. She was all I had, however inadequate, and I couldn't imagine myself without a mother. Took me twenty years to see that she was part of the dynamic, the catalyst for the toxin.

That my mother asked me if I was still with D when I first remade contact still rankles. That she so bluntly showed lack of interest in my stories, interrupting to tell me there was nothing new going on, asking no questions. That she called me 'darling" when she never did before, that that she is financially comfortable (yay!) and I am in the will (gah!) That was the final straw, that I am somehow buyable. I'm not. I don't care if it's $5 or $5 million. I never before even thought there was anything TO inherit. Let the poison stay in Texas with her and the diligent son, and I have now closed that channel back to me.

Just had a flash of memory from school. I'd be shoved into games for PE, not interested in playing, nonetheless winning, and never even being taught the rules. And the girls who loved playing and desperately wanted to win would shout at me for not playing well. All I could think was, why do they think that will work? If I'm on your team, and you want me to play better, is yelling at me going to inspire me? I think not. I think I'm now not on your team, I am going to play as badly as possible to not let you win. I lose nothing, you get what you deserve.

And this is the thing with the genetic kin, they want to have me love them, and understand them, and try to force me by criticizing and guilting me. When the first marriage was falling apart, the ex tried to force me to stop pulling away from him and have me start doing all the work again. And I honestly think they don't understand why this isn't effective.

My age ten self is struggling with her sense of duty, trying to come to terms, still wanting that family to love her, not make her love them - because she was doing that already and they still wanted more. I tried for her, gave them a chance to reach out without grabbing back, and now I have to convince her that it will never happen. Nothing will ever be enough for them, she'll never be able to do the right thing to elicit their love or respect.


I lose nothing that I ever really had. Only illusions.

Burn all the bridges.




Setting up a new site. May take a while, but it's happening. I'll let you know.