We reconnected in November. I haven't seen her since I was three or four years old. I found her on an old newspaper guestbook. She was looking for my dad. I e-mailed her. We've e-mailed a bit since then. I sent her a Christmas card. She talked about sending me a Christmas card. She talked about calling me someday. She told me she'd send me a souvenir from her trip to California, I told her not to bother. She didn't. You know. Like that.
But whatever. She's not ready for a relationship of any sort, except the kind where she occasionally feels guilty and sends me an e-mail and I send her one back and wait for her response a month later. Or where I post a picture of my new haircut on Facebook and she tells me it's pretty. But that's okay. One mother was emotionally unavailable. The other was physically unavailable. Same difference, really.
I got an e-mail from her yesterday. I had posted on my Facebook wall that we finally had a diagnosis for The Asshole. She e-mailed me to ask what it was and to tell me that she's been oh so very busy with life and she felt super duper guilty for not writing sooner. When we first started talking she told me that going to the post office was the highlight of her day because she didn't have a job and there was absolutely nothing to do in the town with a population of 400. But whatever. She got a part-time job, so I imagine it's just way too much running around for her to handle. I understand.
So I told her. Gave her the rundown. Gave her some random tidbits of life.
I'm expecting our next contact to be in about a month when she sends me a Farmville neighbor request on Facebook.
You know, I understand that losing a child will screw a person up for life. But you would think that losing one would make you not want to lose the other. And you would also think that the fact that you walked away from one would make you keep your legs shut the next time around. Instead, she popped out another one and dropped her off at Grandma and Grandpa's house. My sister's going to be just as screwed up as me, if not even more so, because she remembers our mother kicking her out of the house when she was eight and she remembers our mother being an all-around douchebag whereas I have no recollection of the things that transpired before the age of four.
You would think that a certain point she would be able to stop making excuses. I have days where I whine and cry and bemoan the horridness of my life, but I don't spend all day long feeling sorry for myself and the things I had to go through. She had a tough life. I get it. So did I. I'm doing okay. I'm not going to abandon two of my children. I'm not going to talk to them only when it's convenient for me. I'm not going to sit around and feel sorry for myself because my youngest daughter hates my guts.
I don't know. You would think that in this situation there would come a point when she realizes she's a worthless mother and realizes that she can do something about it, at least for the one that's still a child.
But that's not going to happen is it? No more than my stepmother realizing she's a horrible mother and she's permanently disabling the three children that are unfortunate enough to remain in her home.