The other day, the Big Kid sent me an email from her grandmothers house.
” Dear mom, my christmas vacation starts December 23. last Thursday we went to New York, New York, for a christmas show. It was awesum, but it was poring rain! Thats the bad news. The good news is that it was fun. see you… sometime.”
(SIC, she’s nine) Of course, this ripped me up a bit inside. How do I respond to that?
Ask your Dad why I am not coming to see you this year, or ask your grandmother.
Why can’t they explain that the reason I am not there is because they won’t allow it? Because I can’t afford to pay the price they are asking? That they are essentially blackmailing me?
Of course, I responded with my usual, “I’m glad you had a good time, I love you, I love your sister, I’m always with you both, no matter what.” What what I really want to say is more like, ” I’m coming to get you, right now.”
I got a reply from her later in the day that said “Dear mom, I sang in my winter concert tonight. Meme attached a picture for me. I hope you like it.”
Not only were there pictures attached, but there was a video too. They have never, ever, sent me a video, even though I sent them a camera several years ago expressly for that purpose. They could never be bothered to send me anything of the kids. I guess they felt I didn’t deserve it. So I was not expecting to see this. And when I watched it, I lost it immediately. It felt like someone punched me right in the stomach. It was a very visual reminder of what I am missing, everyday, because of this bullshit. I have never seen either of them perform in a school play, or sing in a concert. I was not there for their first lost tooth, or when they learned to ride a bike. I will not be there when my first born child gets her period, or has her first date. I am not there for them and it’s killing me. These people don’t give a shit what they are doing to them, to me.
And instead of being able to see my child singing, in this video, all I can think of is those videos the bad guys in the movies send of hostages.
Here is your beautiful child. If you ever want to see her again, you will send me $400.00 a month for the rest of your life.
I want to throw up. Or punch someone. Or both. They treat me like I am the worst piece of shit on the planet, and somehow always conveniently forget that that is how they wanted things, how they made things. I never wanted it to be this way girls, and someday, I’ll be able to explain it all and show you everything. I can not wait for that day.
And in the meantime, forgive me for whining earlier today about not wanting to go to The Kid’s musical this week because I hate the other moms at her school. I will be there, crying, smiling, through every minute of it. I know I need to cherish every second with her, but sometimes it slips away when I get caught up in other things.
Seriously, cherish your babies.