Page 137 of Love Me
“I had to deal with it?” My voice is borderline incredulous. “You were the one who was …” I can’t say the words. Not to her. “And then you got kicked out of your home because of me and then I got sick.”
A full body tremble runs through me. I tried to bury these thoughts and feelings for so many years. It seems like my entire body is reacting to having them resurface and shown to the light.
“It’s my fault your life was so hard for so long,” I say. “If you hadn’t had me, everything would’ve been easier for y—”
“Don’t you dare,” she says with a sharpness that stuns me.
I blink before meeting her gaze. Though the tears remain, her stare is focused as she meets my eyes.
“Do not finish that sentence.”
I swallow the words that remain on my tongue.
“Nothing that happened to me is your fault. Do you hear me?” For emphasis, she shakes me by the arms.
“You did nothing,nothingwrong.” Her voice is so fierce. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard this tone from her.
Still, the wall and insecurity that’s built up in my heart over the years is thick. Hard to penetrate.
“I know I didn’t purposefully cause those things to happen to you,” I start. “But the truth of the matter is most of it wouldn’t have happened if I weren’t a part of your life. You wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of your home so young. You wouldn’t have had to work those terrible jobs to support me, or put off your dream of going to college. Or worked a career that you didn’t love just to be able to afford insurance to take care of me.”
“And yet, I wouldn’t have had you,” she says with so much sincerity I can feel the crack in that wall around my heart growing deeper.
She steps closer. “What happened to me …” She pauses, and I watch as she visibly swallows. “The way you were conceived is an experience no one should have to go through.”
More tears stream down my cheeks.
“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But,” she stops and places her hand underneath my chin, making me pick my head up to meet her eyes, “that night, aside from being the beginning of your life, hasnothingto do with you.”
I can barely see her through the haze of tears in my eyes. “But … how could you not hate me? After that and everything else that happened because of me, how could you not hate me just a little?”
It’s a question I’ve wondered about for years. My mother is the most loving person I’ve ever known. She deserves the entire world. The idea of someone hurting her and me having that person’s blood running through my veins sickens me.
“Hate you?” she asks as if it’s a totally foreign concept. “I could never.”
I believe her but I still don’t understand.
“How could you not, though?”
She moves her hands to my cheeks and wipes my tears away with her thumbs. “This is why you’ve been so distant for years.” I hear the realization in her voice. “Is this why you moved to New York?”
I look past her shoulder. “Part of it. I didn’t want you to have to worry about me anymore.”
To my surprise, she smiles and shakes her head. “That’s not possible. You’re my daughter. My first born. It was me and you for almost the first ten years of your life. Since the day you were born, a piece of me has been living out in the world. I’ll always worry about you. Not because of some obligation or … what did you just call yourself? A burden,” she answers.
“You were never a burden. Not once did I think of you as a chore. You are my baby girl.”
Though it’s wobbly because we’re both crying at this point, her smile reminds me of the one in the picture from the photo album. The one of her in the hospital bed after just having me. She was looking down at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.
I close my eyes, and all of the occasions throughout my life in which I’ve seen that same expression on my mother’s face come back to mind.
The day of my kindergarten graduation.
When I got my driver’s license.
My first job.
Every time I brought home an A on a paper or straight A’s on my report card.