The Unburied

TW* mention of SA

The thought comes to me on a bleary November afternoon. A full week after her 30th birthday as a matter of fact. Haunted by her face and unable to stop reliving what led to our separated paths, I decided to take matters into my own hands. It was time to apologize, to have her forgive me and be a part of my life once again. It’d been years since we last spoke and saw each other in person. Nine years to be exact. I didn’t know what it was that made her stop reaching out, not even for my birthday. It’s why I don’t say anything about my visitation. I can’t apologize through a phone call or text message. It must happen face to face and that’s what puts me behind the wheel, driving down the highway. I’m on my way to her. 

I think of her on my drive. While I focus on my driving, I think of how her and I made multiple of these drives together at one point. Sometimes she would sleep the whole ride, tired as all can be. Lord knows how she could have ever been that tired. Her image floats in my head; last I saw her I noticed a tattoo on her wrist, her first, snaking onto her hand. A bright green serpent that coiled around her wrist, its red forked tongue stuck out across the back of her hand. It was horrendous, vile. It didn’t look right on her. Like she was trying to say she was tough, when in reality she wasn’t. She was a weak girl. I said nothing of it, just stewed in thoughts of the past. Her hair had grown into its natural color with several inches of leftover hair color. It was a light straw color, the ends frayed. It was short, going no further than the tips of her shoulders. New glasses, a thicker pair of plastic blue. The frames around her eyes were wider squares, the crest of her cheeks hiding within the area. 

I think of her throughout the years. From a crying baby, complete with long tufts of chestnut hair and the softest nails you’d ever touched. A wobbly toddler, shoving her hands into her birthday cake and smashing it all over her face. A troubled teenager who started hiding secrets from me, never confiding in me anymore. I used to be all she adored, the apple of her eye some would say. She was fiercely protective of me and I was of her. I couldn’t believe how much she loved me, and she lasted longer than her siblings did. I don’t know exactly when everything changed but she became distant and never wanted to be home. Now a grown adult, I’m positive that she’s got more sense in that head of hers. She must miss her mother at this point. 

It was around four in the afternoon when a knock sounded on the front door. I try to peek out the front window to see who it might be, but whoever it is, they're bundled up well and I can’t recognize who it is. I sigh and turn away from the window. A second light knock rings through the hallway. I open the door leading into the front hallway and then repeat the motion to the front door. “May I come in?” I gasp loudly. She may have fooled me with her person, but her voice I would know from anywhere. It wasn’t one you could forget. How could you when you’ve heard every version of it? Screaming, crying, anger, depression, manipulation. You know, the work of a shitty mother, and mine stands in front of me despite not having seen or heard from her in nine years. It had been my decision to cut her out of my life. I couldn’t confront her so that was my next best option. But here she is. 

“Well?” she asks, removing an oversized pair of sunglasses. Her gaunt face is revealed and I see how sunken her eyes look. They have a solemn look, like there’s a depth to them but one that has no end in sight. She looks impossibly sad. No. Don’t feel bad for her. I take a deep breath and step backward, pulling the door open wider as I do. “You’re not staying long,” I say as she brushes past me. She looks backwards at me, her thin lips pulled down into a frown that trembles ever so slightly. She’s really laying it on thick, huh? I look away as I close and lock the door, a motion set in my bones.

She stands in the middle of the living room looking lost as she studies the surroundings and I see her head tilted ever so slightly, listening. “He’s upstairs,” I answer her unasked question about her dad. “Sleeping, he gets worn out a lot these days.” She only nods.

I moved out from my mom’s house at 18 and lived with her parents ever since. They were nice enough to take me in and I was beyond grateful. My grandmother’s funeral was the last time I saw my mother in person. It was just me and my grandfather in the house after that, but it never did feel like my grandmother had left fully. She shows no emotion towards her dad who is slowly reaching the age his wife was when she passed. I worry daily about him and my heart constricts every time I think of the fact, but there is suddenly nothing on her face. The depths of depression have fled from her eyes, leaving behind only coldness. There she is, in her true form. The look on her face is what’s haunted me, whether it be in nightmares or in life. A look burned into my brain, never to be forgotten.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wanting to get her out of the house fast. It’s already been too long in her presence and I can feel how anxiety slowly flows through me, turning me to ice.

“I was hoping to...apologize to you,” her voice slowly grinds out, as if she really doesn’t want to say the words but I detect a hint of emotion in them. Just enough to make me think she could be sincere, but I also know better. “OK, so apologize.” I give her nothing. I’ve had time to school my voice into an emotionless lilt just like I’ve heard from her multiple times before. She just blinks at me, as if she already had given forth an apology. I cross my arms over my chest and sigh. Finally she blurts, “I tried so hard, Aiden. You just, you have no idea.” I raise an eyebrow, still refusing to utter a single word. I want her to be good and finished before I say my piece.

“I loved you so much! I still do because you’re my youngest and you’re just...mine. You were solely mine once, when you were little. You loved me so much, you wanted me all to yourself. You told me so once, long ago. Then you grew up and became distant. You pulled away from me, little by little. Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I gave you everything! You had a roof over your head, food to eat.” At this she pauses, then sighs and begins again. “And Lord knows, you had your fill of that food. You weren’t abused as a kid, like I was.” At this my blood boils and I don’t care to hear anymore.

“Not all abuse is physical!” I shout and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. Pools of earthy brown that’s now pulling in a tide of tears. “You know, I’m really not hearing an actual apology here. You’re just spewing half-assed bullshit. A blanket apology isn’t going to cut it. I can tell when you’re insincere and you’re being exactly that. It’s just an excuse for you to hear yourself talk and think that you’re the hero in the story. Guess what? You’re not! You’re the villain, Mom! Maybe once I thought you were the hero, when I was little and naive. But I know better now. You manipulated me throughout my entire life. You cried on my shoulder when you were drunk, telling me all of your regrets. How much you wished you’d never been a mother, how you only had me to fix the family that you broke. You snooped through my stuff, hardly let me have a life outside of your watch. You held me so damn tight you didn’t recognize it was you doing the damage to me, not vice versa. Because subconsciously, I think you blame me for all that’s wrong with your life. You didn’t want to fix what you broke and so you wanted to put all your problems onto a fucking baby! That’s ridiculous. Who thinks like that?” 

I’m out of breath by the time I’m done and my mom is standing in front of me, mouth agape and eyes nearly bursting out of socket. A vein pulses heavily on her forehead. The look in her eyes is positively murderous but the anxiety knot that was my body is no longer. I no longer feel like ice, but like I’m fueled by hellfire itself. Finally, she speaks. “I’m your mother. How can you talk to me like that?” Sadness laces her voice heavily, weighing the words down as if they’re tied to anchors. I don’t feel a pang of sympathy.

“I can talk to you like that because you’ve talked to me like that before, and even worse than that,” I respond. 

“I’m still your mother. You don’t disrespect me like that! I came here to apologize to you for everything. I know I wasn’t the best mother but its been years. Don’t you think I’ve changed by now if I made mistakes in my past? You don’t know what I’ve gone through the last few years without you. You’re older now! You must miss me, don’t you?” I almost laugh at her words. She thinks a simple apology will fix the years of trauma, manipulation and sheltering she did to me? Instead I just shake my head and tilt my head back quickly to hold back tears. I don’t want her to see me weak. Never again will she see my weakness for I never want her to have a way to use or manipulate me again.

“Mother, apologizing for a simple ‘everything’ will not do it. You’ve done so much, do you even realize that? I just bled it all out for you and still the only thing you can think about is how you’re my mother and I’m not supposed to talk with disrespect. What about when you talk to me with the same? Am I not allowed to push back? To stand up for myself? No, right? Because to you, you’re the ultimate authority in my life, no one above you and me, buried deep beneath you. It took me years to get to the surface, but I’m here and I won’t be buried again. Not by anyone, but especially not by you. You simply being my mother saying sorry won’t do anything. You come in here, hoping to manipulate the situation and me, well no more of that. You can go.” Again, more blank stares. Then something washes over her and it is a wave of absolute fury. Her eyes seem pitch black as anger takes her over.

“I am apologizing! Why is that not enough?!” She screams the words, stepping forward as she does til she’s right in my face, her nose mere inches from mine. Her breath flows heavily between her teeth.

“BECAUSE! It’s not even a fucking apology! You just want to relieve your guilt so you’re bullshitting it, trying to get me to forgive you. Well, I don’t. I don’t fucking forgive you and I never will. Even if you apologized sincerely and meant it, I just can’t.”

“WHY? We can have a new relationship now. You’re older, you’ll get more of the world, more of me.” She’s gripping my shoulders now, holding me so tight her nails dig into my back through the fabric of my t-shirt and I screech. I put my hands on her chest lightly and push her back. More rage and she shoves me roughly backwards, but I have the couch to land on. She towers over me now, looking down at me. “Just let me back in, please.” There’s desperation in her voice but all I can see, all I can feel is red. 

“I WAS A CHILD. A FUCKING CHILD.” The words fall forth like vomit. My chest heaves and I stare up at her. “I was a child and you placed the blame on me. It wasn’t his fault, no it couldn’t have been. It’s always the victim’s fault, right? Because I got all of your anger, while he got none. It was just forgotten like that. And that is something there will never be an apology for. Because you’re stuck in a sick mentality and are just a plain horrible person, in addition to being a terrible mother.” In a swift moment she’s backing away from me as if I just struck her, all the rage burned out from her. My chest heaves, and my throat constricts so tightly it’s hard for me to get in any breath at all. Tears prick my eyes so I toss my head backwards and blink firmly. It’s enough to keep them at bay. Before I speak again, I clear my throat, all while my mother stares me down like she’s never seen me before.

“I know, I’ve grown some teeth since we last spoke. You can’t walk all over me anymore. I’m done. It’s why I haven’t reached out to you. All the shit you did to me, said to me; hell some shit you didn’t even have to say or do. Your looks alone would cut me down to the core and make me feel one inch tall. I know you won’t understand this for a while, or probably never, but I don’t care. All I care about is how badly you fucked me over, how you broke my trust in you at just eight years old. You were everything once, yes, but now you’re nothing to me. I won’t accept this blanket apology from you. Try a sincere one and I might, but I can never forgive you and you can never be in my life. You alone are triggering enough. You did the worst betrayal you ever could’ve done and for that there is no forgiveness. I trusted you! Do you understand? I trusted you so much and I came to you in a time of need, of hurt. And it was my fault because at eight years old I was just too provocative, right?”

“I...I couldn’t believe your own brother did that to you,” she barrels in and I stare at her. “That’s not an excuse at all. You have a tendency to not believe the victim. Doesn’t make it not true. But enough is enough. I’m tired of the back and forth with you. Please leave, and please do not contact me. You want to try a real apology, write it. Be sincere. But you won’t hear back from me. I can’t be around you, you make me feel too insignificant. Go.” She looks like she has more to say but sighs and turns for the door. A shock pulses through me. I’d thought she would have more fight in her but I see tiredness set in her face.

“I do still love you, despite all that you said today. I’ll consider writing the apology but don’t expect much,” she spits out and then she’s slamming the door behind her. The laugh from before bubbles up into my throat and before I know it I’m wheezing out laughter in between salty tears. They stream down my face, blurring my vision as my laughter rings throughout the empty living room. I laugh and cry until all breath is stolen from me then sit in quiet contemplation. I look up at the ceiling, realizing how dark the room is now. A bolt of white moonlight shines in through the further most window and I stare at its weak illumination for a moment before finally standing up. 

For years I had longed for an apology from my mother, and wanted to forgive her for everything. But apologies don't fix everything and forgiving her for what she’s done to me is something I won’t give myself. It’s not what I need, it’s never been something I needed. No, once it was her. I needed her to protect me, to love me in a good way. But she gave no protection and a sick love that was overbearing and sweetness disguised as manipulation. I had to be my own protector, and I definitely wasn’t great at it at first, but overtime I flourished. Now I had just protected myself against my biggest fear yet. I stood on a ground that I had never stood on with my mother and came out unscathed. I clawed my way out from the depths that she buried me in, freer than I ever thought I could be.