The material presented
here is not Al-Anon Conference Approved Literature. It is a method
to exchange
information, ideas, feelings, problems and solutions on a personal
level.
I wrote this letter to my mom... on Mother's Day in 2007. The previous night she'd been drinking. My sister and her infant son lived with my mother at the time... and because my sister tried to take my mom's keys and purse so she couldn't drive, there was a fight. A big one. It certainly wasn't the first.
I'm not saying this was right or wrong... I'm just putting it out there. This was just over 2 years ago. And I am *finally* participating in al-anon. She's been drinking since I was 13. I am now 33.
~~~~~
This is A -- your daughter.
One of the last things you said regarding me was that I was not your daughter. I guess you didn't recognize my voice, which doesn't really surprise me. I'd really hate for that to be the last thing I ever heard you say about me...
I could tell you how hurt I am right now -- but I don't think that would make a difference in your life. I could tell you that I can hardly type because its so hard to see the keyboard through tears. I doubt that would make a difference either. In fact -- I could tell you just how much I love you and how grateful I was for you today -- of all days, on Mother's Day, and how sad it was in my household because between my husband and myself, we only have one mother left to say, "I love you" to. Again -- I doubt that makes a damn bit of difference to you.
What I'll tell you instead is HOW ANGRY I am. Sometimes a bit of anger is healthy, you know. And if you're as wise as I believe you are, you know that anger finds its roots in fear. So, what fear is it that I have that gives me such a great anger that I find myself crying this hard? It is the fear of losing my mother. Worse -- it is the fear of losing my mother and feeling as though I don't really like her. That feels like such a sick thing to say, to feel... and to actually go and express to my own mother. But that's what it boils down to -- I don't think I even like you -- when you drink. You are not my mother anymore when you drink, and so I guess it was only fair that you said I was not your daughter.
Do you want to know who you are when you drink? You seem to always conveniently forget, and so I will outline it here for you:
When you drink... you are unrecognizable. You are hateful, selfish, miserable, a nuisance and hazard to yourself and everyone around you. You are dangerous, spiteful, jealous, belligerent, and a disruption to everyone you hold dear.
N called me tonight and do you want to know what I heard? I heard you in the background spitefully wishing her a "Happy Mother's Day"
How DARE you ruin my sister's VERY FIRST Mother's Day -- how dare you.
Congratulations. You have given N a Mother's Day -- her very first -- never to forget.
History, no matter how much we would like to -- can never be re-written.
I heard you HIT my sister and shove her -- why? Because you told her you were "going away to kill yourself" and your awful daughter tried to take your keys and your purse to stop you. So, of course she deserved to be belittled, insulted, cussed at and shoved by you -- how dare she -- acting like she loved you or something.
Mom -- Mother -- How. Dare. You.
I am so, so angry right now that I find words difficult to come by -- and for me, that takes a lot.
You wanted to know what your headstone would say? (Because that was something else you asked N while I was on the phone with her, you said you hoped it would say you were nice) I'll tell you -- if I had my choice, your headstone would simply read "I'm sorry" -- I'm so god damned sorry I couldn't save you -- I couldn't help you -- I couldn't stop you.
I'm so sorry your life sucks so bad. I'm so sorry you're so special and your life is so much harder than everyone else's. I'm so sorry your husband never wiped a dirty diaper, I'm so sorry he was an ass to you and wasn't as emotionally there for you as you needed.
I'm also sorry that my mother was a verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive, adulterating drunk -- but I don't hold that against you -- do I?
I'm really sorry that I had to become a mother to my sisters because my mother decided "she didn't want to" and that I dropped out of high school to take care of them and that I assume the majority of responsibility in their lives instead of their mother -- but hell, I don't hold that against you, do I?
I'm sorry that whenever they REALLY need something, they turn to me instead of you, because I'm just about as much of a mother to them as you ever were. And again -- do I hold this against you in anyway, do I? No -- I don't. I outgrew that long ago -- so maybe you should consider forgiving WP for not being the husband you wanted.
He has not been a part of your life for the last 15 years and that is between you and him -- not N, E, or myself -- he is our father and we love him as much as we love you -- and so insulting him to us does nothing but make you look pathetic. He did wrong -- so did you - again, that is between you, him, and God -- NOT us.
He was never an "involved father" -- then again -- after you ditched us, you were not much of an involved mother, he was who kept us and loved us and put his life on hold for us while you went off gallivanting and doing all the things you never could because you got married at 17 -- again -- not my issue, not N's issue, not E's issue -- that's for *you* to sort out.
I hope to God I do not regret clicking "send" at the end of this -- because when I am angry/hurt/upset I sometimes put things forth in a way that doesn't exactly come off as objectively or as diplomatically as I would in other cases -- but the bottom line is that I have had it. I have had IT. I'm done.
I'm done making excuses and "trying to understand". I DO understand -- I understand that you are hurt, I understand that you are clinically depressed, that you can't sleep, that you absolutely hurt to the core for many things that life has dealt you. I understand that (when sober) you make every effort to put a smile on the faces of those you love, and you love many. I understand that you would do anything and everything in your power to help any 3 of your girls, your sisters, your mother. I understand that you would rather use your last $50 to help a loved one rather than help yourself; you're beautiful that way. I have not escaped also noticing that when you drink -- you are a force to be reckoned with and someone who is more dangerous than the average person.
Because, mom... sober, you are one of the most amazing people I know and have ever known. When you're drunk -- it is the same face, the same body, the same smell, the same voice, the same of many things of the person I love -- except for the one thing... the person -- she is different. She is dangerous and wretched and miserable. Her heart is different. That's not "my mom".
I can not help you.
I can not help you.
And the crappy part of that is that I actually have to accept and believe it -- which is damn hard -- I can't help you!!! YOU have to help yourself, you have to WANT to help yourself, and you do not want to.
The only single thing in my power is to help those I love help themselves -- and right now, that is N and B. Again, I have advised N to take her son and get the hell away from you. I am not cold hearted -- I am a realist -- I know for a fact you can't be saved until you save yourself. I know for a fact that N is in a very vulnerable position in her life. She is one the verge of "making it" -- N is about to be the only daughter who FINISHED college -- I never finished. A few courses shy doesn't earn shit and gets no "real" degree -- she is going to do it -- she will be the only one. YOU have no right to sabotage that for her. She is going to make a life for herself, more so than E and I have. E and I are happy, and N is too, but N will have "one up" on us -- and GOOD for her, she should be encouraged and supported. She should not have to deal with you behaving the way you are -- but yet, this is not her responsibility (your life). Which is why I have advised her to get away -- for the love of B and for her future -- get away.
Get away.... that's never something one should have to say about their mother.
I don't know what else to say. I know that one day I will be leaving flowers at your grave, one day before you ever should have died. Before that day comes, I hope to God you know and had the chance to know how much I love you. I hope you go to your grave knowing that I have always considered you one of the best mothers I have ever heard of -- that I remember with clarity all of the things you did for us and sacrificed for us.
I hope you know I understand you as a person and not as "my mother". I hope you know that I do realize that YOU put your education on hold so that my father could pursue his education. I hope you know that I realize YOU were the one who cared for me when I was a baby, you were the one who wouldn't let go of me because no one else could do as good a job. I remember that you came to my school to volunteer on field trips and that you baked cookies for my class and that you helped me with my homework and that you bathed me and tucked me in. I know that you were "mommy" and dad was "at work". I KNOW these things and will never forget these things -- no one is like "mom" -- no one.
I hope you know just how much I remember, I hope you know that certain smells remind me of you, that I love the sound of your laugh, and that I know everything out of your kitchen will just taste GOOD! I hope you know I remember my napkins in my lunch boxes everyday that told me my mom loved me.
So -- you want to kill yourself? Go ahead, because I can't stop you -- if I could, I'd give my right arm for it -- but I can't. You want to die? I can't stop you. I'll go to your grave and leave you flowers, I will say out loud there that I love you, like my husband does at his mother's grave -- and I'll hope to God and all that is sacred that somehow you hear me -- like he does.
You know -- he left a cell phone in his mother's coffin, before she was buried -- and before the service was disconnected, he used to call it sometimes, just to hear the recorded voicemail she left -- so he could hear her voice. She had to die, she had cancer, she had no choice. You do. And frankly -- that's what pisses me off.
So -- you want to? Go ahead. Because I know -- your life is so miserable according to you -- and nothing can change that, nothing can help it -- nothing but some booze and some loser guy you don't even know at some lame bar. That's all that can help. I love you. But you do make me sick. Nothing you can do will stop me from loving you -- but nothing I can do will save your life.
With love, on Mother's Day -- today and always,
A -- your daughter -- whose voice you do not recognize.
-- Edited by GlitterGirl on Sunday 7th of June 2009 02:51:06 AM
Aloha (((((April)))))...that was courageous to bring your letter here for us who understand and we do understand. I read it as I use to think and feel before I learned to see my own alcoholic and then see my wife and then the drunk and then the child of God and then the failure and after that the woman who was a child of God and a wife and mother and an alcoholic. Then I came to understand love without condition and was able to detach myself from the fear, anger, rage, guilt and more. I was okay while she continued to drink and live an unimaginable life and I understood that a power much greater than I held more promise for her and for me. Like yourself I reached the point of loving her and turning her over and going on with my search for peace of mind and soul and serenity.
God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves is what you will hear over and over from member after member who comes to understand that miracle. And maybe in time after you have let go completely you might witness your mom having a miracle of her own.
You are suffering as all victims of this disease suffer...painfully until we are tired of the pain and then arrive back home in the program to be loved until you can love yourself and guided and led until you can walk up right on your own with your hand reaching back for someone else who also is living your story.
Cry as much and as hard as you need it's okay. Get as loud and profane as you like...tantrum well and then come into the rooms of the program to listen, learn and practice that which has healed hundreds of thousands of other daughters, spouses, friends, family and associates of alcoholics.
Welcome home...please plan to stay. (((((hugs)))))
Thank you so much... This letter was written to my mom just barely over 2 years ago.
I'd be lying if I told you I didn't still have some of the anger and some of the fear that I expressed then. I do still have it, but admittedly, it has become less.
That was the first time I'd told her that I realized I couldn't save her. I think it was the first time I truly recognized it myself -- that I can't save her. But that's just one tiny part of the healing, growing, learning process. I still have so much work to do (on myself, for myself)
And it feels overwhelming to think about and consider all the different aspects:
the acceptance letting go learning how not to enable learning how not to be co-dependent learning how to let go of needing to control everything learning that I can still love without "fixing"
and the list goes on, and boy -- that's a scary list.
But... Step One ~ I am powerless over alcohol... and if nothing else, my relationship with my mother has become unmanageable
(did you notice that resistance to admitting my own life is unmanageable? :) )
I believe that there are many facets of my life that indeed -- are not "unmanageable" -- but perhaps more of it actually is than I've actually ever suspected or realized.
I am astonished by your courage in having written this and sharing your thoughts so profoundly. Never let it be said there aren't victims along the way. I applaude your courage to move forward and lay down the guilt of not being able to fix her. In essence you forgave her for not being the mother you felt you deserved. How very healing putting it out there in straight forward terms.
o yes, I can relate. My mom, too. Years of it. I love her now, unconditionally. She is who she is and its OK. I have come to accept her for who and what she is. I no longer expect anything else. I like how Jerry unpacked the suitcase of that: they are so many people packed into one body. But ultimately, yes, they are a child of god just like you or me or anyone. She has a disease. So do I. Neither of us are any better or worse. I used to be able to judge her and now, in all honesty, I simply cannot. We do the very best we can and the rest is in the hands of HP. hugs, J.
