I was intending to write several blog entries this past week but I had to get in the right mindset. I was given news this morning though that made me sit down to write about a subject I was going to touch on anyway.
My mother is moving to another state.
If you don’t remember, my mother and stepfather moved to the same city as me many years ago which was a bad thing as I was trying to escape her. A couple of years ago they moved to another city in the same state but kept the house they have here in my city which meant that they could at any time be around where I could bump into them.
My greatest wish was to be rid of my mother’s presence and the news that they are moving away should be a relief. It is in a way but there is something bothering me and this something was going to be one of the blog entries I wrote.
When my grandmother died I inherited everything. This did not ease the relationship my mother and I had obviously, and she made sure that I was aware of it.
When the time came for me to move away, I had to pack up lots of my grandmother’s things to take with me. I had a garage sale for the things that I didn’t wish to keep and things that weren’t particularly valuable. During this time of packing and grieving my mother mentioned a few items that she wanted and I told her that she could have them.
How it galled her to have to ask me for something. I had no problem with the things she mentioned and I had no desire to add more stress to our relationship. Little did I know that my mother stole some of the most important items from my grandmother’s house.
In the chaos of moving I didn’t realize it until later when I was able to unpack and then was confused by the feeling that things were missing. Imagine my surprise when I saw those items in my mother’s house. She noticed me discovering them and her look dared me to confront her about it. Back then I was weak, so I didn’t.
Amongst the items she took were my grandmother’s photograph albums. This kills me because those were very important to me and she never looks at them.
There’s another reason these albums have become so important and it’s a reason that you may not understand. In one of these albums is the only picture we have of the uncle who molested me.
You might be asking why in the hell I would want such a thing and I don’t know if my reason will make sense. I need that picture. I need it to make sure that the image I see of him in my head is accurate. To make sure that my perception is accurate.
The picture was taken by my grandmother and I was standing right next to her when she took it. The one incident of abuse that I remember happened at my grandmother’s house in that room and I even wonder if it was that day. Whatever the case…I need that picture.
Of course it goes way beyond just that picture. I want all of those albums back and I want the things that my mother stole back, like the pair of mother of pearl opera glasses that I used to hold in my hands when I was little. All of her vintage hats that I used to dress up with when I was little. Everything.
I hate my mother for stealing these things. She keeps a bunch of stuff in storage whereas I would have them out to look at and appreciate and remember.
My grandmother used to let me go into her closet and pour through every box and drawer for hours and hours. She didn’t mind and I thought her closet was the most special place on earth. It was like travelling through time in there and discovering parts of my grandmother and other relatives I never knew.
Now that my mother is moving away it feels like she’s taking those things even further away from me. Like I’ll never get them back. Yes, we weren’t speaking anyway but having them close by somehow made me think that maybe one day I’d be able to get them back.
I told my therapist a couple of weeks ago that I wish my mother would just die already. She told me that her dying wouldn’t make her go away and I understand that, but at least I could retake the things she stole.
The title of my post is about feeling like I have to beg her to get back what’s mine. No, I will not break my own rules and speak to her; it’s too dangerous, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing that I could ask.