Made the Right Choice
Today, in the mail, I got a postcard from my mother. She was offended that I sent a thank you note to her for the birthday check she gave me and signed it, “Love, Cindy.” She thought it should say, “Oops. Sorry. Cindy.” That’s right: she seriously expected an apology from me for saying the things I said to her.
You see, on August 28th, two days before my birthday, we went out to eat at a restaurant for a “birthday brunch” for me. She was going on and on and on and on about my oldest brother’s drinking himself to death and how awful it was. Something inside me snapped and I went off on her. I told her that she almost killed me in the accident and that, when I asked for a ride home from the hospital (after spending six hours in the ER she landed me in), I was told by Dad to call a cab. I was furious. A lifetime of frustration came out.
She wants an apology. She will die before she gets one from me. Seriously. Not. Going. To. Happen. EVER.
In response, I sent her and Dad their Christmas card with an explanatory note. I also sent a Texas Roadhouse gift card worth $50, but lost the receipt. That is the perfect metaphor. I pay full price and have no acknowledgment for it. The explanatory note explicated how concerned she is about my brothers killing themselves with booze, but Cindy can find her own way home from the hospital they landed her in, apparently.
I told her I do love her, but an apology will never occur. I don’t hate my parents, but their priorities have always been clear. I am not a priority and any pretense of such ended this past summer. Dad calls me “his favorite daughter,” but I can find my own ride home from the hospital. I wonder who his “favorite daughter” really is, because his complete lack of concern raises the question of her identity. It is clearly not me. Their pretense of caring about me has ended. The mask is off. Nothing they can ever say can change anything they have actually done. Their actions scream louder than any words.
She is lashing out and wants me to apologize for my “inappropriate” (in her delusional mind, I am sure) behavior in telling her my true feelings. She is hurt and wants me to restore the relationship, at the expense of any shred of self-respect of mine, of course.
Problem? The relationship is not worth restoring. She is not worth my time and energy. A relationship where I am seriously expected to apologize for their bad behavior is worthless to me. Better off without it.
I believe that my family truly wants me back. I have a role to play in that family: Scapegoat.
Getting that note from my mom today demanding an apology from me was a total affirmation that walking away from the family was the best choice I have ever made in my entire life. Best. Choice. Ever.