“I remember her . . . I remember her . . . I remember her so well . . . “ the lyrics from a recent Ingrid Michaelson playing sweetly, solemnly in my mind. A song of her mother. Thoughts of my own mother being painful, I switched the meaning to something I could accept so that I could keep listening to and enjoying the comfort the song brought me. Softly swimming around a deep sorrow in me that wants to be okay again.
Surrendering to the siren song of the chorus, letting it carry me past my pain, I did start to remember something. The young girl in me surfacing, singing the song for me, bringing with it the vivid fluid moving story of her feelings through me like a movie projector. Her way of sharing her heart stories with me.
I began to remember my surrogate mother. I could find her inside me. Whenever I was alone, lost, frightened, confused I would turn inward and call to her with my feelings and heart and there she would be. I never had a name for her, only knowing her by the distinct signature of feelings I felt whenever she was nearby. She supplied me with what my human mom was unable to.
Until the day came that it was time for me to grow up and become my own woman. When I began to lose the connection to her, I became more aware of my biological mom. It was time to learn about the human part of me. Over the years I watched as my mom struggled to understand life.
Emotionally distant. Her inner dialogues, arguments drowning out anyone outside of her. Lost in herself while simultaneously neglecting herself. Always focused on everyone outside of her while never really seeing anyone else but herself. Not realizing that while she blamed everyone outside of her, that she was really fighting different aspects of herself. There is no room in her for anyone else to exist. She is isolated and alone in a world of her own making.
It took me decades before I understood that I didn’t really exist to her. That she saw and took everything I did as being how she would have saw and done that same thing. Anything outside of her personal world went out of her spectrum of sight and became invisible or distorted and twisted until it came back into view for her . . . never looking as it was originally meant. Making it impossible for me to reach or help her.
It was a big blow to me to when I finally realized that I wasn’t going to be able to help her. That my choices had boiled down to either keeping her in my life and suffer, or let go and see if I couldn’t find my own happiness. The danger being that if I didn’t start helping myself, that I would become her.
So I went my own way. She didn’t and still doesn’t understand. I spent years trying to explain it, but over and over she only saw a distorted version of what I said. In her world, for someone to go away means that they don’t love you, and maybe never did. She doesn’t understand my world where someone going away has nothing to do with whether they love someone or not.
“I remember her . . . “ I initially felt this song and remembered my surrogate unseen mother. Once again bringing me the comfort that she once did when I was a young girl. She’s still there after all this time. Coming full circle. Coming back home after so much drama and adventure in the human world. Understanding myself and the world in ways I was unable to comprehend as a child.
When I am with her, my heart becomes big enough to be able to face the pain I feel in relation to my human mother. Pain I wouldn’t be able to handle otherwise.
Just how much I love her. How angry I am at her for not loving herself enough to be able to be there for me how I needed her to. No, not anger. It’s much deeper than that. Deep wide-mouth sobbing heartbreak. How much I needed her to be bigger and stronger than me. How much I had needed her to be the adult in the relationship. That I’m forced to go through life without her. On the surface it looks like it’s me who isn’t giving her a choice about our relationship, but in reality it is her that gave me no real choice. Forcing me to choose between her or myself.
I mean, what kind of choice is that? Basically saying that one of us has to die.
I feel hurt because she chose death and left me alone in life. I’ve been trying to make it different, but I can’t. Omg. I keep trying to save people. I’m still trying to make it right instead of accepting the reality that I have no control over what other people decide to do. Jesus. I’m trying to convince people, who have already decided to die, of how great life is because of how much it hurts that they want to die and go away from me. Living in a constant threat of being left alone in the world.
But, I have to let them choose what they want. They have free will. I wish they could hear me through their pain and feel how much I love them and how much it hurts me to see them like that. Not for a guilt trip, but so that they are aware at some level that what they do does affect others. They may not think they matter, but they do matter to me. That’s how I know they are wrong. They think nobody loves them, but I love them and I’m not a nobody. I am someone and my feelings matter too.
I need to sit with this some more and more deeply integrate it. I have to let them choose, even if it hurts me. I have to give myself space to mourn that pain in me, so that I am able to come to peace with it. Which will lighten my burden, giving me the strength to move on and live my own life. Instead of being tied up in my grief for them and sitting motionless in life myself.