Inheritance

 Amma passed away in 2019. I still cannot bring myself to write about her. It is avoidance. I can remember all the wonderful times I have had with her. Avoidance is the blanket covering the dark areas. But when I think about the painful moments with her, I am filled with sadness about how much she had to endure, and go through in a life that dealt her with bad times. I feel bad that she had to go through so much in her life. I feel angry towards the people who treated her badly. I feel sad that Didi, too, endured so much because of her. I defend her. The best of her. Her worst, in the mouth of others, is censured in front of me. I won't stand for it. Because she gave a lot to her siblings and the people around her. She gave without a bit of hesitation. She gave lovingly. So, when her siblings badmouth her, I fight like I am scathed. I protect her memory. No one dares say a thing about my mother. 

Privately, I say, I received her worst. I feel ashamed to admit that I suffered a lot because of her. I have to be understanding, my mind chimes. But I am angry. A lot of her ruined me, as did a lot of my father. 

They were babies themselves, I feel like saying, in parenting and life, with no good role models to follow. They did not mean to hurt you. They too sacrificed and wanted happiness. They did the best that they could, given the situation... remember, father was a posthumous child. How could he show fatherly love when he did not get any? 

I keep repeating this to myself, and mostly, all that is true.Which is why I never speak about her badly. I say she was sunshine. She was. She was also dark, and could sink into the depths. She was cruel, cunning, and hurful. She was spiteful, as well. She was suicidal. She needed unwavering loyalty. She needed her people to stand with her. Father abandoned her emotionally. Older sister left. She latched on to me, and I stood, when it was fun, and also when it was abuse. Repeated abuse. Not just with words, but with actions and emotions. 

What happened to me? No one asked. I just stood there, loyal, and took it., I fought her fights, her battles. I stood there. I was locked in the same room with her. No one checked in, and beyond "how are you?" and "hang in there" no one was interested. 

I was caught in the torrents of my parents' volatile emotions. My mother's illness took my life away. I was her crutch. I am still taken aback. I live, 47 years in a body that is mummified with her ghostly voice inside me. She rules my mind, he does too. I feel trapped. I have to let the ghosts go. 

- Dee 

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