Love Actually

A story of loss and love.

Did you love me? I think about that constantly. That night in the dining room, you screamed that I was worthless, a disgusting thing. It’s odd to me how you spent my entire life telling me that a parent’s love is endless — but it ended.

In reality, you loved me when I fit inside your picture frame. The good “girl” that obeys, reads the Bible and prays every night. I didn’t have to pray on my knees, but what did that really matter? I had to pray for hours all the same.

Unconditional love is a myth, isn’t it? Just something you say to placate the arguments. Just something you say to make me feel safe.

I love her. I know that you never understood how I could love a girl like me. You always said, “Get yourself a good boy, there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

But I love – her.

I think you were bitter and maybe jealous of what I found. A love that is actually unconditional, with no hate, no abuse — only kind intentions.

You told me that hell didn’t exist. Hell was a way to force the masses into conformity — only heaven was real. But as soon as I told you the truth, you said I’d burn.

You didn’t love me. I know that now. I was a pawn in your personal game of achievements. I was a pawn on a chessboard who disobeyed the Queen and decided to move five spaces back instead of forward.

The tides turned so fast, Mom. You loved me as your child until I didn’t love a man. Isn’t that sad that I was expendable? I didn’t commit a crime, I didn’t break a law, and I didn’t do anything cruel. You hated me because I felt real love. The love you never felt for me.

You are not in heaven mommy. You are buried beneath this marble marker in the coldest part of the earth. It says “loving mother” — that’s a lie. It should say “loving mother…if.”

I miss you sometimes, but I remember how much you hated me. I am reminded of the truth…I was a good “daughter”, and you never deserved me.

I don’t leave flowers here anymore, not for you. Isn’t it funny how you died alone and I am surrounded by people that do nothing but love me?

I am not coming back here, to this graveyard, your resting place. I leave you here in the ice box that matches your soul. I am sorry that you never loved me.

Just know that I love you.

This is a letter to my mother. I do not know if she is alive or dead since I was disowned. She never accepted me as I am. I described myself as 20% Pan and 80% gay. I am proud of that, but lost many people in my life because of it. I realized over time that the people of the past do not dictate my present. I never needed fake parental bonds — that’s not real love. I love me — that’s love actually.

Prompt by Ravyne Hawke of Promptly Written: “Fiction Friday — a conversation in the graveyard.”