I can never be a mother. Not because I’m a bad person or unfit. I can just never be a mother. I don’t think I’d be able to handle the bad days. It would be so difficult to give everything I am to this someone who might hate me in the end. Someone that wished I was dead because I grounded them, or because I took away their prize possessions.
I wouldn’t be able to handle rejection, and I am jealous that it rolls off the backs of others. Knowing that I took care of this someone, whom I labored for hours and it not meaning anything in the end, that would be worse than death itself.
It’s bad enough that I cried for you Gina as you sat in your stroller, terribly sick. I rocked you back and forth because that was the only way you could sleep, crying and praying to God to make you better. It’s bad enough I would eat the food you couldn’t or drink the fluids you wouldn’t while grandma was yelling at you to do it. If I had known you’d grow up unappreciative of my sisterly love and care, I never would’ve come back your senior year. I would’ve continued trying to find my own way in this small world.
The truth is that I do have you in my life now but it has become so difficult. I wasted years of my life in the depths of guilt trips and anguish. I blamed myself for not being there for you, for not getting you out and into a better environment. (how could I when I wasn’t in one myself)? I tried to make it up to you when you were a senior in high school. I thought if I helped you improve your knowledge and self-confidence then maybe you wouldn’t think less of me for leaving. I couldn’t have been more wrong. You fed off my guilt and played me so to speak. Who am I kidding, you did exactly that.
I gave you all of my love, argued with those around me who spoke ill of you. You looked the other way. I tried; impatiently to help you with your schoolwork, to speak with your teachers. Our grandparents raised you and now, with grandma gone, I felt it was up to me to step in. I couldn’t count on mom because she left us out in the rain, and I couldn’t count on our sisters because they had families of their own. I had no one and nothing in front of me so I had plenty of time.
In the end you didn’t care. Your answer to everything was and still is “I don’t know.” What kind of b.s. is that? Why can’t you read a simple book Gina? Why is it so hard to listen to me, to your teachers? Each question answered by a simple uncaring “I don’t know.” I hated the fact that I couldn’t get you to love yourself, to make you believe you were better than anyone said you were (and you still are). I hated arguing with you while you believed in their lies, living with the notion that you were stupid.
I love you with all of my life, my being, and you can’t even understand the simplicity of it. That in itself is so hard to deal with and I’m not even your mother. I live each day knowing that you ran in the arms of the first boy who would take you without running to us first. You got pregnant for every wrong and idiotic reason you could think of. You turned your back on us in the end and yet I’m still here, trying to show you how loved you are. If this isn’t motherly instincts than I don’t know what is.
I will no longer take it. I shouldn’t have to. Imagine if this was a mother/daughter role. This would devastate me even more. This would break my heart in more ways than you could ever fathom. What is so hard about letting people in and accepting their love? Why can’t you be grateful that you have people who love you and want to be there for you? I’ve always believed in you. You never tried and that hurts worse than you not caring about me. You gave up on yourself for stupid selfish reasons and you dragged me along for the ride. I feel stupid and pissed off. If I was a mother I’d probably give up and lock the door to my heart, swallowing the key.
As a sister, I feel like doing just that. It was easy for you, why shouldn’t it be for me?
This is why I choose not to be a mother. To live with pain and anguish from someone as selfish and uncaring, someone who can only think of themselves unless they are in trouble or afraid, why suffer through it? My heart was never meant to take the pain. My heart was meant to pump love and forgiveness, safety and strength. Having to hear “I hate you!” for the stupidest of things makes me want to throw up. It’s true, you’ve never said that to me, but then again, you’ve never said anything less than “I don’t know” or anything meaningful to me and that is worse.
A mother is strong and can take the punches. I wasn’t meant for that. A mother is willing to sacrifice, no matter the cost, to protect her son or daughter. I would sacrifice too much. I am done trying and you’re only my sister. For once, maybe you should ask our mother why she didn’t feel like playing a part in our lives. I’m done asking.