August said, “Listen to me now, Lily. I’m going to tell you something I want you always to remember, all right?”
Her face had grown serious. Intent. Her eyes did not blink.
“All right,” I said, and I felt something electric slide down my spine.
“Our lady is not some magical being out there somewhere, like a fairy godmother. She’s not the statue in the parlor. She’s something inside of you. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Our Lady is inside me,” I repeated, not sure I did.
“You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.”
The Secret Life of Bees
Sue Monk Kidd
I followed up on the lead I got on my brother’s father. It turns out that he and E were in fact married but it only lasted three days and was forced by his mother. There was question as to the paternity of “the child”. I don’t even know if he is aware of the fact that it was a boy. Loser. I mean if there was a question fine but a question certainly does not make a fact. Wouldn’t you want to know for sure?! Loser.
He said he had only seen her once since then and that was years and years ago when she showed up “uninvited” to his H.S. reunion. The distaste he has for her virtually dripped off of his tongue. He sounded like he was revisiting his bitter 20 year old self, which I found seriously pathetic.
I think it is safe to rule him out as my birth father. But then again he didn’t seem to be of exemplory character so it is hard to know whether to trust his words either. Another brick wall seems to have placed itself in front of me.
After I got off of the phone I became angry. Angry at the secrets, angry toward the lies and deceit. Is the secret of one’s past, the preservation of ego worth the pain of another? I cannot justify this no matter how hard I try. It is not in my nature to be cruel intentionally. If I know I am causing someone pain I go out of my way to change the situation, even at the expense of my own comfort.
Can I live with the fact that my birth mother is simply not a very nice person? Of course I can. It’s not a good feeling but my feelings do not seem to be an issue for her so that certainly does not change anything. She does not want me in her life, nor does she allow me the opportunity to know who my birth father is and no matter how you cut it that is just selfish. Under normal circumstances I would not allow a selfish person into my life. I see no reason to make her an exception.
There is a part of me that seems to be a bit hypocritical because for my very own selfish reasons I wish the fact that I am just about ready to wash my hands of this whole mess would bring her some emotional discomfort. To know that she felt bad about her actions would honestly make me feel better.
I don’t think it goes against my usually kind nature to want her to feel because I have no power to change the situation. I am not responsible for her emotions. I don’t wish her sadness but her reaction toward me has been so horrible that I can’t help but wish she would feel somewhat repentant. If she did then I guess that would bring her sadness but that couldn’t be helped. It would be a by-product of allowing herself to feel. The only way I truly believe she could feel good about all of this if she were honest with herself and with everyone around her and I don’t see that happening any time soon.
I have to walk away knowing I did everything I could. I was kind and sensitive, courageous and patient, loving and sympathetic. I was brave. Very brave indeed.
I have thanked her for giving me life and thanked her for her time. That’s just going to have to be good enough. I have a mother who, as screwed up as she may be, cares enough to have me in her life, is always there for me. She may not know how to be there WELL but at least she tries. That too is just going to have to be good enough. I guess it’s time I took off my own rose colored glasses. My futile attempts at establishing some sort of bond with the woman who brought me into this world has become a serious waste of my time and a huge waste of love that will be better spent on someone who cares to receive it.
I will always love E but it’s time I found a place for her. Like sticking a love stamp on her forehead and plunking her on a shelf. Take her down and dust her every so often then it’s “back to the shelf for you honey!” Call it self preservation.
At the end of the day I think I need to count only on the mother within for the true needs of my heart. That was really great advice.