I went to hug you. To reach out, to offer comfort in a moment when you were clearly overwhelmed. We were there to go through what precious things we have left of our grandparents, your parents, because I couldn't bear the thought of them sitting in a box in a back room of a home they poured their lives and heart into. A home that is now an echo of the decades of life that passed in it before.
It wasn't going to be an easy or emotionless task for any of us. I'd made my peace with our work for the day and was as ready to face it as I could possibly be, but you were really struggling. So I reached out: “Hey, mom, I know this is really hard but I'm here -” but before I could even take half a step towards you with my arms outstretched, you put a hand out in my direction to stop me. It wasn't directly in my face, but it may as well have been.
A critical, pivotal moment. I retreated, and set to whatever box was closest. But it was the last time I'd retreat from your control over the situation. It will be the last time.
Normal people don't lie awake at night questioning their parents' love for them. They don't doubt that because of the way they choose to identify or the company they keep that their parents will outright reject them and refuse to engage with them in anything other than arguments and criticism. They don't fear even talking to their parents because they already know the response is going to hurt. I love you but I can't accept who you are or what you do. I love you but we're not going to talk about that. I love you but. But. But. But. Normal people don't have to fight anxiety spirals and breathe through tears just to go to sleep. Normal people don't see love as conditional - they don't ostracize or criticize.
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