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Name: margalit
Location: Massachusetts, United States Professional writer, educational advocate, opinionated ultra liberal mother of 18 year old twins, living life in the slow lane due to hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure, and diabetes.

email: margalitc at yahoo dot com

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Thursday, May 05, 2011

The Evil One

Conflicted? Who? Me?  Yup, as we encroach upon that mist confusing of Hallmark Holidays, the one where we honor our mothers as our children honor us. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that this is my least favorite day of the year. Father's Day doesn't really get to me because my father is dead, and my kids don't acknowledge their father since he pretends that they don't exist.

But Mother's day? Filled with guilt, regret, loss, anger, and resignation. Funny how none of those words sound happy. My feelings have been filled with regrets for as long as I can remember. Way back to early childhood. My mother, whom I refer to as the Evil One, was a terrible mother. There are a lot of reasons why. Her mother was a terrible mother, too. They both had mental illnesses. Neither wanted daughters. Neither wanted to be a mother. Both were extremely unhappy. Both had skewed morals. All of these things are undeniable, but they never found the strength to rise above it. Their misery fanned out to suffocate their nuclear families with misery.

Somehow, even as a small kid I knew I was unwanted. It was obvious that I was the kid that came at the wrong time and was the wrong gender. As I got older the Evil One made sure I knew I was a bad mistake. It was more than clear that she disliked me and made no effort to get along with me.

 The Evil One. Photo stolen from her Facebook profile. She is NOT my friend.

Now, why would I want to honor someone like that with a bouquet of flowers or a small piece of jewelry. Consequently, even though I didn't want to, I sent cards and gifts on Mother's Day. Me heart wasn't in it, but if I did send her something, it was one thing she couldn't bitch about. I never wanted to get her anything. I did it out of habit and guilt.

I stopped talking to the Evil One on Easter Sunday, 1980. I've never spoken to her, or my father when he was alive from that date on. Over 30 years. She is an old lady. I'm an old lady. In an Oprah world we would fall into each other's arms and sob. Except I don't ever want her in my life, or the lives of my kids who have, of course, never met her. She apparently has no interest in meeting them either,

OTOH, now it is my turn to be the person 'showered' with gifts on this holiday of fake emotions. I want my kids to make an effort to be thankful for all my work as their mom. Gemma always rises to the occasion, but Graham? Not so much. Graham is so self-fixated that he can't even sign a card. Last year Gem bought him a card to give to me, and I got it unsigned. No present ever. Not for Mother's Day, my birthday or Hanukah. I know this a component of his mental illnesses, but it HURTS that he refuses to even take one second out of his TV watching schedule to sign a card. I shouldn't be angry, but being hurt is OK. He knows he hurts me. He doesn't care. Ever. About anyone but himself.

So being conflicted is how I feel every Mother's Day. Sad, huh?

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