black-roses,

I lost my mother 11 years ago, due to incurable illness. Like your mother, my mother was emotionally abusive and made my life an absolute living hell. I loathed being near her and when we near to each other, we were like cat and dog. I felt that my own mother never taught me "healthy" love and to this day, at 45 years of age, find myself wondering what healthy love consists of. There were moments in my life where I didn't talk to my mother for years, yet for some reason I always went back. A few therapists stated that this was Stockholm Syndrome. I don't know what to call it, but I always had a deep voice inside of me wanting to understand her. I also had a hope that one day she might "change".

This hope died when my mother died. There are moments when I think about my mother and I wish one thing. I wish she were still alive to see my daughter. I may have a different expectation than others on this piece, but she was and always will be my mother. No matter what she did to me, I always went back to her. I wanted her to love me, but I guess that was one huge pit of naivete.

--Sarc