Late last night, my son sent me a text. Attached were three pictures of my second daughters’ children. (The daughter who hasn’t spoken to me in over a year.) Her daughters were all dressed up in their Valentines’ Day outfits.
Why would he send those to me? Why? I don’t think he was trying to hurt me but I don’t know why he did it. I asked him why but he didn’t respond.
Those are two little girls that I am never going to see, much less know. The only time I ever saw the youngest one, she had just been born. Now, she is walking.
I wonder if my daughter ever thinks “that’s the way mom used to dress us.” I wonder if she thought “I wish mom could see them.”
I wonder if she realizes that I was the one who tried to make holidays special because their daddy was preoccupied with himself and really didn’t give a shit.
I wonder if, when she is overwhelmed with the duties of motherhood, she wonders “how did mom do it, with four children…and all by herself?”
My daughter is lucky. Her children have aunts and uncles who are part of their lives. Those aunts and uncles actually care not only about her but they care about her children.
She has in-laws who not only care about her but they care about her children. She doesn’t have a mother-in-law who gets drunk and abuses her, while her husband sits there like a stump and ignores it.
She has a husband who not only cares about her but he also cares about HIS children. He doesn’t choose beer and bars over her and her children.
Her husband doesn’t do everything he possibly can to be away from them. He’s not “working” at a bar with other women, or overseas or in Las Vegas while she’s at home, alone, taking care of his children.
I imagine that Loser and the WTC got those pictures. I imagine Loser and the WTC made sure they sent cards, to keep up the illusion that “they actually give a shit.” It makes THEM look good. Mom didn’t send anything.
I don’t imagine any of those questions ever enter her mind. After all, it’s MY fault that our marriage failed. It’s MY fault that the family is fractured. It’s MY fault that I wouldn’t allow Loser to bring that WTC to my house and sleep with her in my bed, making a happy extended family possible.
It’s MY fault that my daughters’ children will never know their grandmother.
What a horrible person I am.