Tomorrow marks the fourth year since my mother passed away.

I am going to be brutally honest and as terrible as it is to say, I don’t miss her. What I do miss is the ability to have a relationship with her. The illusion of what I have conjured up in my mind of what our relationship could have been.

Even after nearly four years, I am still angry with her. I watch other mothers with their daughters and I am jealous of what they have. Going shopping, having family dinners, baking cookies, laughing together and the list could go on and on.

I barely have any memories of us together. Most of the memories I do have are of us arguing. Me walking away. Me apologizing to keep the peace. Me doing things to try to get her to see the “error” of her ways. Me crying for the emotional attention that I just couldn’t seem to get. It felt that no matter what I did or how hard I tried I couldn’t get her to realize how much I needed my mother in my life.

I was separated from my mother from the ages of five until I was fifteen. In November of 1989 I flew back to the United States from Germany alone to be reunited with my mom.

This was going to be the first time that I had seen her since 1982. I have hardly any memory of that meeting with her, my grandmother and my aunt. What I had was a feeling. That feeling you get when you know that you have missed that person and you instantly know that’s where you belong. But that was only for a day.

As I nervously awaited to see my mother at the airport, I kept envisioning over and over in my mind what this reunion was going to be like. Would I run into her arms and cry? Would I even recognize her? Would she be happy to see me?

The sad thing is all that I can remember when I saw her was that I thought she was ugly. That I looked nothing like her. In reality there is an uncanny resemblance between the two of us. There is no doubt that we were related.

I do blame this thought process on the constant beratement from my step-father who despised my mother. He bashed her every chance that he got and I literally grew up hating her. But I think that hate went much deeper than his negativity. It also stemmed from me feeling that my mother never rescued me from this abusive asshole. After all, she knew that he was a sick man. He emotionally, physically and sexually abused her. And yet, somehow I remained in his custody and not hers.

It was easy to blame him and say that because he was a white man in the military that fighting against him was like walking up a waterfall. But the thing is that it wasn’t impossible. She could have at least tried. But there is no evidence that she ever did.

That is also very evident in our relationship. She never tried. As soon as any hint of conflict came up or uncomfortable feelings surfaced, she would shut down.

The irony is that she made me go through therapy when I first got back from Germany because after the therapist met with me she told my mom that although I had not physically been raped I acted just like a victim who had been raped over and over again. But my mother herself would not go to therapy.

I know she had went to therapy before I came along but whatever that stirred up, she must have decided that she wasn’t ever going to continue. I have no idea what her reasoning was but looking back I firmly believe it’s because she didn’t feel worthy, good enough, like a lost cause.

That’s how she lived her life. Reaching out to me maybe once a year. Always talking about how she loved and missed me and she would visit soon but never could because of work. She had big plans after retirement. She was going to travel and hang out with me and my daughter. She never made it to that point. The month she died is the same month she was supposed to retire. She was only weeks away.

Another reason I am angry with my mother is because she was able to be a mom to everyone else’s kids, just not the one she physically gave birth to. I also blame that on the fact that she didn’t feel worthy since I am convinced that she gave up custody of me. I think she felt guilty for practically handing me to the lion in the lion’s den.

But even with all of that, I begged my mom to forgive herself so we could move on. I did this nearly 20 years ago. No matter what it took, I simply just wanted her to figure out how to love herself. Something I struggled with my entire life.

It’s something that took me years to figure out but I did eventually break that generational gap. I have learned to love myself so that I would not ruin all of the good relationships that I have in my life. Mostly because I didn’t want to ever push my daughter away the same way that my mother did with me.

The hard lesson to be learned here is that it is NEVER too late. No matter how ugly it looks, keep showing up for yourself and keep moving forward. It is worth it. You are worth it. Even if you made BIG mistakes in your life they can be forgiven. Seek the help that you need to put one foot in front of the other. Eventually it will get better and easier.

I wish I could miss her. I really do. But I will forever miss the idea of who she should have been rather than who she was. It’s a much better memory.