In my life I have read numerous stories and poetry about parents. Many of them are quite beautiful and very lovely. Many of the stories are about their mothers. I wish that I could write something nice about my mother. But there isn’t anything remotely nice I can say about her.
I don’t blame her for leaving me as a baby. I do realize that she had to possibly leave, as she felt that she had to chase a way to make money. But that is no excuse for her lack of contact. I do feel that she could make it up to me by sending mean a gift. Even if it is something simple such as a bunch of flowers would be lovely or a Christmas card, perhaps even a birthday card.
I think she can’t remember when I was born perhaps, she forgot. I had been through hell because of my mother. She wasn’t there to protect me, yet she has decided to turn her back on me. She has beautiful grandchildren that she has hardly seen and new ones that she never saw at all.
This past Christmas she couldn’t be bothered to send me a small gift or even a simple Christmas card yet she found time to post letters that her mother had written to her when I was 14 years old. The letter said that I was lazy and unruly. I would never let my mother say anything bad about my children.
This is where we differ I’m a good mother and a good grandmother and I love my children unlike my mother who is filled with bitterness and resentment.