My online conversations with family are so enlightening and disturbing, confusing and clear, and they show me who they are, and how they see me.
What continues to surprise me is that they hold me up to an unattainable standard and then have no standards for themselves or the rest of the folks they spend time with.
Their willingness to hang on to my father and let me go leaves me forever puzzled.
My latest infraction is that I knew my mother wasn’t with my father, but I said it for my benefit, for my stories benefit.
I lie for the benefit of my story?
My story is torrid enough without needing one drop of falseness. They don’t make Hollywood movies that are as tainted and twisted and long-suffering as mine.
I willingly admitted that I assumed wrong, and that wasn’t believed.
My mother was in my father’s new town, but refused to see him, she would get dropped off before his house and wait while they delivered ‘stuff’ to him.
She was near, but not with him, sorta like when she is up here. She is near me, but not with me.
So what does that mean?
We have not had a reunion any more than they have had a divorce, it seems she lives in between.
Between the ending and a new beginning, a no place.
It seems to me it would be easier to end it once and for all, to complete the relationship to finalize it, like ending a contract, for until then you are nowhere, not married, but not divorced.
Separated with space, living in a hammock between both lands.
Her not being near him hasn’t brought her closer to me, I wonder why?
Where is she really?
No steps taken to sever or to reunite.
What kind of life is it to live in between, to live in the space that isn’t either side, to be free of making a choice either way?
Isn’t that standing still?
Undecided?
Unknowing?
I see her as unchanged, for even if she has left my father’s side, she hasn’t made steps towards mine.
