esther's journal-5

SUNDAY, September 17: Today is my mother’s birthday. Or was. She died two years ago from Alzheimer’s. We never really got to settle much of what was between us. By the time I was ready, she was already in a different world. I still struggle with that. We should have had it all out, or at least come to some sort of agreement or truce.

I think is pretty much boiled down to this: I’m not sure my mother ever really loved me. I know that sounds harsh, but I’ve thought about it a lot. It wasn’t her fault, really. I don’t think she knew how to love. It wasn’t me; it was her. The loneliness still hurt, though. I still think, too, that she was somehow abused by her father. Just a calculated guess. I think all children need to be loved by their parents. That may sound oddly obvious, but it’s not. I think, sometimes, that’s why I’ve been here this long. Our school doesn’t get Exeter and Andover or Deerfield kids. We get damaged kids, kids who feel stupid or odd or wrong, somehow. I think I get that – them. I’d like to think that, anyway, and that I make a difference in their lives.

Anyway, Mom would’ve been 87, today. I thought she died young. Turns out she had me by a quarter century. I’m not sure about any sort of after-life. I don’t believe in hell, but I’m not at all confident about heaven. If there is one, perhaps Mom and I can get things settled.

Sorry, time to go. Dinner. I’m meeting Mollie at the dining hall. Tomorrow we start classes. I’m ready to go. Been ready.