My mother passed away almost two years ago. She was an unhappy, manipulative, negative person. She triangulated her children so that my brother, sister and I were separated emotionally. She scapegoated my sister and me, my sister is 7 years older than me, my brother 4 years older. When my sister left home, my mother was was able to fully focus on me, especially since my brother left for college around the same time and he would not be a witness to her behavior.

That being said, she had prepared me nicely to take on that role as she treated me with little concern during my childhood, criticized me constantly and created hysterical scenes over things that should not have caused her to react this way. I was always the one to apologize to mother for causing these events. She never came to me to apologize. She would accept my apology and then tell me I should not behave that way again, when in reality it was her . She would chase me around the house and scream and yell until I completely fell apart and would sob and cry, then stand over me when she reached her goal and continue with her tantrum. She would smile at me when in my sobbing I told her I hated her. My destruction soothed her.

My brother was the good child. He is a good man, but I know to this day that he suffers from being the one who escaped much of my mother's wrath. It was only when she was about 92 that my brother was through being the good child. He saw what she was. She didn't like that, so she then turned on him. It was easier for my sister and brother during my mothers last 15 years because she lived near me, I was the caretaker. The both lived out of state and only say her once a year, if that. The did speak to her on the phone and it was never pleasant.

When my mother passed away at 94, I was the one who made decisions, I was the one who wtayed with her in the hospital day after day as she came closer to death. I was the one left with all her belongings, I was the one to pick up her ashes and the one left to scatter them. My brother and sister both came when she died. They did not want anything she left. The left everything with me.

She had written a letter to my brother saying it should only be read to me after her death. Of course it was a self-serving, hateful letter that even after he death wounded me deeply. As I went through her belongings, I found a another letter addressed to me. Inside the envelope was a letter she had torn up, but left for me to read in an envelope with my name on it. It was devastating to read, however it was also confirmation that my memories of her were valid.

I still have not scattered her ashes. For some reason, I am just not ready. I don't know why. Maybe I have magical thinking that I need to keep them to keep the hope alive that somehow I will find a way to accept who and what she was. Or another fantasy I have is that I will find some positive memories of her that will comfort me and allow me to scatter her ashes in a kind and loving way. Conflicting feelings hold me back from scattering her ashes. I am filled with dread when I even think of touching the container the ashes are in.

I am in therapy now and one issue of course is my mother. I have so many abusive memories that have come out. I am trying to understand that she had her own MI issues and never sought treatment because she always thought her behavior was acceptable, everyone else was wrong, anyone who disagreed with her or tried to help her was wrong and evil. It was black or white. No in between.

I grieve what could have been. I see some glimpses in my memory of a few times where she was pleasant. I don't however recall any time that she was loving, kissed or hugged me or validated me. I laugh at myself thinking her ashes can give me what I never had.

In reading my post, I know it is time to scatter the ashes, they are what they are. Nothing can be done at this point to change the past. I am somehow fooling myself into thinking there is a kind and loving mother in that box.

I pretended my whole life that I was OK. After she passed away somehow I lost the ability to continue to pretend and her passing, coupled with a life changing injury, sent me into a deep depression. The last year especially has been horrific depression wise.

I want to scatter her ashes, yet I want to keep them. Who the hell knows why I would want to keep them. I guess in the end, it is saying goodbye to my dreams of a having a loving mother. I am terrified to scatter them. Somehow I feel compelled to keep them. I just don't understand it.