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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 659240" data-attributes="member: 18958">Is this what I feel when I go to bed? Am I taking on the willingness to suffer, and feel as yet I do not have the capacity to bear it?Is it my own suffering, past or present, or is it that of others *my sister or son, or is the mourning for all of it? For a story of victory, but at the same time so sad and so dirty in parts, and so cruel and treacherous, as to be unable to take it in or bear it...as yet.I am not clear here, why we must go back.In my case, I know this is the case. That I went back for my mother, at great and continuing risk to myself.  And I believe I go back to bed to save someone or something, but am not clear who or why...What is your sense, Cedar, of what the returning is about? Is it penance or recovery? Regressive or forward moving?  Either, neither?Yes.  But it is a strange fruit, this love. I asked M today if he thought the evil that permeates my sister is genetic. He answered, No, because if it was you would be the same and you are not.We found pictures today. Many. That my mother had secreted away and my sister or her henchman husband did not find. My grandparents among some, and many of my mother as a baby, child and younger woman.  Whew.Among them were a couple where my arm circled her back, protectively. This was real. It was love. Where I learned to love as a mother loves.  I will not give up this love. I will not.I will use as example, SWOT, who had it in her to love her mother until the end, if her mother had permitted it.  That is courage. I will try to emulate you, SWOT.  To be open forever to be the best. Because to say no in my heart is to kill off part of myself. And I like you, SWOT and Cedar, am love, not hate and fear.Well maybe fear, but we're working on that that.So, Cedar, is that what you are getting at when you ask what is it that I both know and do not want to know?  ?And is the fear of this strong and horrible place that it will put us to bed? That at once it is borne but feared, feared with such force that it as if kills us off to know it?It seems like a paradox. Strength and fear. Strong enough to carry a terrible burden. Wanting or needing to close our eyes to its contents.Today I went through a large box of my mother's papers. Remember in the last box I found the note declaring her wish to never see me again. And I found the will she hid so as to steal our inheritance.In today's box I found the records of money she had promised me, a large sum 100k, to restore equity between myself and my sister, who she had helped a great deal throughout her life with hefty gifts and support, and paying for her college. Support I did not ask for or get.But then, she rescinded, the restitution. I knew it before she died, but to find the papers hurt me.And records of jewelry which was to have gone to me, to redress gifts to my sister, over the years. How my sister must have laughed when I gave her the jewelry as part of the estate, knowing she had already received more than her part and whathad been left was to have gone to me.It is like dividing zero.  There was zero. Never more than zero. Zero then. Zero now. I do not miss the things. I grieve the loss of what never was.I found many, many pictures of my beautiful mother. As if she saved every picture ever taken of her. Because this was where she was the closes to perfection, in a two dimensional image.I am grateful to have them. It is almost as if I recovered her.  Strange, I know. I guess I am able to accept, finally, that what I missed all of those years when I did not see her was really, not that much. Because what I had wanted from her could only have come at the greatest of risk to me, or not at all.This paragraph or two I added later:I cannot let this go all together.   Because she did try. And my son and I were hard to take as a package.  All that chaos and disorder in her pristine house.  She would at the end get hysterical and accusing...maybe that is how I get. And because I had no defenses from this, I would retreat to not return. For years and years. And maybe that is what I fear my son is doing now. Retreating. And that this will be my punishment. That he will not see or call me for years and years because I said I might put a block on the phone if he kept mocking me about my father's cruelty to me.I guess I do not have defenses against that which was my true life. And I am trying to take it all in. All of it. And I am.  Little by little.Except I want my son to call me. I cannot live without my son in my life.And here I return to the main entry:And so I know now. I went back for me. When I went back to care for her and be with her until she died, it was to find me, to find myself there. And it was worth it.I just haven't figured out how to stand up carrying all that I found. So I have to keep going back to bed to rest myself. So, as to regain strength to begin again.My mother did keep my baby pictures, and some elementary school pictures. She did remember.And I will always remember that she accepted my love at the end. She let me love her.  What a great gift.I too cannot stop from chuckling at this. Only Spanish has words that capture this idiocy and I will say them. Tonta, Pandeja. Idiota. I think you get the drift. Pardoneme, Por Favor, Cedar.I do not know, Cedar.At least you do not keep looking at the for sale pictures of your sister's home on Zillow. And I am almost tempted to give you the address except then I would not be anonymous.SWOT, remember Urban Sophisticate?  If not, search in the threads, please. So, I looked at my sister's address on Neighborhoodscout.com. And guess what came up? Urban Sophisticates. Like 85 percent. And I will go right now and lift the description.I mean what kind of person wants so badly to create an image and hobnob with other urban sophisticates...when they are really at heart so shallow and so mean...oh pardon me Cedar, I didn't mean to disparage your sister too.I mean, I know I love M. But do you think I sought out somebody in his situation (and you know what it is) expressly to deny and negate urban sophistication?  I mean, pleaaaaasssse. Let me turn into a Valley Girl, right now.  Pleaaaasssse.SWOT. GET OVER IT. YOU ARE NOT. YOU NEVER WERE. You are NOT. NOOOOOOOTTTTTTT Borderline.What you were is injured. And betrayed.  But you are almost through the worst of it.SWOT, If we all agree that this was an act of self-sabotage, cruelty to self, can we not let it go?  Every time you consider it again, even to reject it, it is to act cruelly to yourself once again.  That is a bad habit that you got as a baby.  Your mother modeled cruelty and you learned to do it to yourself, in her absence. It is almost the cruelest thing of all. That we learned to hurt ourselves as they hurt us. Stop it.</blockquote>

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