Dear Mom

Do you think I’m stupid?

Don’t answer that. I know what you’ll say. You’ll go on about how smart I am, and how you were just telling someone the other day how lucky you are to have such a smart daughter, and you’ll gush about how beautiful I am, how I work so hard, and…and you know what? I don’t care what you say about me, because I know the truth. I see what you’re doing, even if you don’t. I’m not stupid.

Just because you refuse to look at the truth doesn’t mean it’s not there. Deep in your heart of hearts, in that black darkness that harbors your most hateful thoughts, selfish impulses, and shameful memories, lies the truth you’re afraid to know; the fact that I am less important to you because I am childless.

I’ll give you a moment to process that.

Now before you go sputtering and protesting that it’s not true, that you love me with a mother’s unquestioning love, that all your children are equally valuable to you, let me tell you how I know. I know because in your own way, you’ve already confessed. Confused? Let me explain.

I’ve learned the hard way that you discover the truth about what’s really important to someone by looking at where they invest their resources – time, money, energy. That’s where their real priorities lie, regardless of what else they tell you. Since the grandkids came along, you and Dad have changed your whole lives to revolve around them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not disparaging your dedication; I think it’s great that you’re such involved grandparents. But you keep telling me that you’re not playing favorites, that you don’t value me less, and that the only reason you don’t spend time with me is because you just can’t find a way. Then your excuses all mysteriously dissipate when there’s a grandkid involved. That speaks volumes of truth that drown out all your weak protests to the contrary.

Need proof? Well, I left home in 2001, and in ten years you’ve visited me exactly twice. Let’s compare that to the past two years, in which you’ve flown out to California how many times? Three? And visited Virginia what, five times a year? I get it. You couldn’t miss the birth of your fourth and fifth grandkids or Lexie’s first birthday. You can’t not visit Jamie’s kids when they’re only a six-hour drive from home. After all, what kind of grandparents would you be if you didn’t give everything you have to be with them? Even if it means there’s nothing left over for your ‘other’ child, the one who doesn’t have kids. Even if you have to lie to me and to yourself about it so you don’t have to face the truth.

I think I’ve been pretty understanding about it until now. When you said you didn’t have money for a plane ticket, I let it go until after you flew out to Kevin’s for Lexie’s birthday. When I asked you again, you said you couldn’t come without Dad, and Dad couldn’t get the time off work, so I dropped it until after you flew across the country to welcome Ava. When I asked you to come spend a weekend with me, you said your hip hurt too much to travel, so I let it go until after the next trip to Virginia. When I extended my last invitation to you and Dad to spend a week here, you said you couldn’t leave Molly for that long, and as a loving pet owner, I didn’t argue. Even when I suggested you drive down and bring her along and you said you didn’t want to spend that much time with Dad in the truck, I didn’t argue. You said you didn’t trust anyone to take care of her, and that one more time leaving her would probably ‘do her in.’ So I dropped it. I’d hate to see Molly suffer, too.

So imagine my surprise when I called home to wish my dad a happy Father’s Day, and a strange voice told me you were in Virginia and that she – the new dog-sitter – was watching Molly. I thought, “Well, maybe it’s just for the weekend,” because after all, you’d told me you couldn’t leave her for longer than that. Imagine my shock when I found out you were spending nearly ten days with Kevin and Jamie and their families. That was when I realized you’d risk everything, including your dog’s health and happiness, for them. For them, you found a way. For them, you always find a way. For me? Nothing but excuses.

I’m not asking you to visit me more. I’m not asking for you to be more supportive or loving or attentive. I don’t need that, and you can keep your money, too. I have a good life that I love, and I’m not going to be bought off or ruin it with a kid I don’t want just so I can finally be important to my family. I really don’t care whether you see my choices as valid; I do, and that’s what matters. And honestly, I’m fine being alone, because I’m used to it. But I’m not okay with being jerked around, manipulated, and lied to, even unwittingly. Your ignorance of your own motives is no longer a valid excuse. It’s time to come clean.

All I’m asking is that you be honest with yourself, even if you can’t be honest with me. Take a look into that inner darkness and face the knowledge that your daughter, because she has created a life for herself without children, is somehow less important. Look that truth square in the eye. Own the fact that, yes, that makes you an imperfect mother. Accept that it’s unfair to move heaven and earth for your grandkids when you won’t even use a free ticket to see your ‘other’ child, and accept what that says about who you are. Admit it. That’s all I ask.

And I don’t want to hear from you until you do.