Tears filled my
mother’s eyes yet again. Single crystal
clear teardrops trickled down her face. No doubt and no
second-guessing—yes, her tears were real.
Each teardrop that fell held anguish, pain, sadness, and the heavy and pounding
weight of her guilt. However, her tears were also attention-seeking and
bordered on crocodile tears of, “Look at me.
Focus on me. This is all about
me. Forget about you and that this day
was supposed to be happy, carefree, and simple.
Forget about you and your sister who were trying to bond and befriend. Forget about this delicious meal that your
sister and you were to have in calm serenity.
Remember me and remember my past and the guilt that continues to haunt
and live like a bad dream series in my head and will now continue on and affect
you from me making this about me and no one else.” Yesterday was
supposed to be a day for my half-sister and me to bond. More than a couple weeks ago, she had
contacted me that she wanted to spend some time with me alone. I was more than happy and excited to forge
forward in sisterly bonding time. I
carefully chose a French-Moroccan restaurant that I was certain my half-sister
would enjoy since she was a lover of French food. While it was clear that my mother was excited
about my half-sister and me making attempts to grow closer, she also felt left
out and hurt that I was more eager and willing to spend time with my
half-sister than my very own mother. This is when our
mother had to infringe upon any potential sisterly only time by insisting that
she would drive my half-sister up rather than my half-sister taking the train
as she originally intended. The warning
bells went off in my head and the invisible wall that I utilize every now and
then immediately came out as my protective mechanism. Though our mother
insisted she would not have dinner with us by words, her words mismatched her
actions when she ended up joining my half-sister and me for dinner. A delicious dinner intended for sisterly fun times
of chatter and laughter was quickly destroyed when it manifested into a
nightmare of my mother crying and carrying on in intricate details of her past mistakes
involving my father, my older sister, and me.
Bottom lines: It became all about her and her past. It became all about the weight of her guilt
that was hot and live wired. Every time my mother
sees me, she ends up crying and revisiting and reliving the past until the
weight of her guilt is so visible to the point of trying to touch and hurt me
and everyone else. More often than not,
whenever a person starts crying, I always ended up crying as well. The tears that fill the eyes and fall down
the face of the other person stings the corners of my very own eyes until I
feel like I am going to cry. However, this time that my mother was crying yet
again, I was fed up, tired, annoyed, and drained. These
were crocodile tears that fell down her face.
For me to pity her. For me to try
to alleviate the weight of her guilt. Maybe
I should have felt guilty for being so cold and stoic to her antics and drama,
but I did not. I was angry and starting to
set the firm line of boundaries that could not be crossed from anyone or
anything to make me feel guilty. In the depths of me,
I knew I should have been kind rather than cruel. That I should have felt empathy or at least
sympathy. That my heart should have melted.
That my features should have softened.
That my hands should have reached out in solace and comfort. But these ‘shoulds’
were not ‘coulds’ or ‘woulds.’ These would
all be lies. I no longer have the energy
to lie anymore to myself or to others—especially to those that have hurt me so
severely that I have created an invisible and protective wall for myself. My heart was as cold as a smooth and
unbreakable and crushing stone. My arms
were wrapped tightly and protectively around myself. Hands were balled up into fists until nails
dug into the flesh of my hands. The
voice in my head that hissed vehemently, “Here we go again.” Her shrill voice was
turning into white noise that I could somewhat shut out. This torture of her rehashing the past yet
again would soon be over with, I thought to myself. She just can’t help it. Nor can I help her. Nor can I ever alleviate the weight of her
guilt that is so intense and so severe that they are like tentacles to reach
out and try to wrap, strangle, and hurt others.
Have you ever had anyone in your life that lives with such severe guilt
to the point of affecting and even trying to make you feel guilty? Have you ever felt the weight of guilt? Where do you think guilt actually derives
from? My mother says time
and time again that God has forgiven her.
I have told her time and time again that I have forgiven her and that
all I want to do is to be in the here and now with her—not think about or dwell
on the past that is over with and not worry about the future that we have no
idea what will happen. My words fall on her
deaf ears. She is a victim of dwelling
on the past and focusing so much on the future that she is missing out on
now. I never want to be this way. What makes it worse is all of this time of
NOT being able to live in the now has fed and made the weight of guilt even
heavier and more debilitating than ever before until she has made herself a
victim and for others to pity her. The white noise
became her real voice when her final words were spoken directly at me: “Well,
you know, you are a ‘tragedy.’” I sharply looked at
her with an icy gaze that could potentially hurt and even kill. I have been called many things in my
life. Complex. Complicated.
Enigma. Oxymoron. Indescribable. I can tolerate people
and their ‘ways’ fairly decently, but the two accusatory actions that I cannot
and will not tolerate from others is their guilt trying to make me feel guilty
and their pity of me as though I am a charitable case. I was never called a ‘tragedy’
before. I never even imagined
such a word could cross someone’s (especially a parent) mind to vocally speak
it aloud. As soon as the words came
out from her mouth, I could now see regret swimming alongside remorse and guilt
in her wet eyes. She wanted to take it
back. But, she couldn’t. She opened her mouth to try to explain when I
cut in piercingly and said: “I am not a tragedy. Everything that has happened in my life has
not been a tragedy. There is always good
that comes out of bad and past circumstances.
Even you leaving.” There was nothing
more to say. There was nothing more than
could be said. An evening that was meant
for warmth and happiness was turned cold and cruel. An evening meant for going forward in the
best of ways turned into the demons of the past in the worst of ways. I see my mother and how I never want to be like
her. I never want to be a victim or
pitiful case of my past and live in such crushing and pulverizing guilt that, I
believe, stems from regrets and the vicious thoughts of what could have been
and what I did wrong that I could not make right. I never want to be so focused on the future
that I miss out on the here and now with the person or people that I am
with. The thing is that all
I ask from my mother to try to ‘make it right’ is to live for now and to be
with me right here and now. I
understand, though, that she just is not capable and probably never will be at
that point of capability, which leaves me incredibly sad and bereft more so for
her than for me. I feel terribly sorry
for her to live with such unbearable and grinding guilt. I feel terribly sorry for her that she is
aware of how much she has hurt others, but to feel like she cannot ever make it
right in her mind that continues to dwell in the past without foreseeing the
future. I feel terrible for her that
everyone has forgiven her, but she cannot forgive herself. The weight of guilt
is so heavy. The weight of my mother’s
inability to forgive herself and move forward is the most cruel and crushing of
all. The weight of my forgiveness is feather-like
freeing. Anger is so crippling and
draining that I just do not have any energy for and no longer wish to give the
hurting party the satisfaction of my fury and wrath. I
will never forget; I will forgive not
for the person who hurt me, but for me to be free. What have you felt
guilty about? Do you think others make
you feel guilty or that guilt stems from us?
Do you believe in ‘forgive and forget’?
Keep smilin’ until we
meet again, Mary :-) |
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