“When I’m around mom Its hard to be nice to you because she makes me feel like I betrayed her.”
“Oh, but what about me?” My dad would say.
This question lingers in my throat like a swallowed fishbone, stuck and piercing the words out of me.
She makes me hate you. How childish to believe, it’s her overriding energy pointing out all his faults. Passing on heat meant for his heart to mine.
What could I answer, without using words meant for mother?
Imagine living with someone who suddenly doesn’t want you around after decades together.
It’s the worse form of torture… the mental kind, what the parasites thrive on.
If only I had the words to break him free of his own prison, the housing built out of our family memories now crumbling, one section at a time. First went the pictures of Mom and Dad hanging on the wall, the family photos on the mantle, every room, little by little.
“Mom, where did the dining table go?”
“None of your business” she’d snicker back at me, as she always had when I questioned her various actions.
Mom where are you going?
Who was that?
Where are you going?
Where are you?
Every time, the same reply.
What’s it to ya?
I was doing the dirty work, like the manager of a pussy boss.
“Dad, I think that you should maybe think of moving somewhere”
Silence. Sinking, sinking,
And then all that’s left are the memories I try to suppress, but its time to let go. De-programming the actions of my parents and others will finally set me free. There are no mistakes to be made there is no right or wrong good or bad. All that is, Love.
Even in darkness and misunderstanding.
And so this too, did pass.