Content warning: some of these may be distressful for people to read. You’ve been warned.

· being held down on the toilet as a small child, as I was screaming, to the point that my mother dug her nails into my skin and left marks where she had done so (marks that stayed after she was done and had to heal)

· her turning the television set off in the living room by ripping the cables from the wall, grounding me from going outside, turning the lights off in the kitchen, and crying in her bedroom to the point that she was screaming because I continued to struggle with the conventional grip of a pencil and continued to use “rock grip”… I eventually did learn how to write correctly, but a lot of that took longer than it should because of the trauma of this, and my mom’s over-enthusiastic one or two attempts to get me to learn to write normally

· telling me to my face while I was a child that I was the reason she wanted no more children

· always being told that I was bad, or how bad I was, when all of it was age-appropriate behavior

· never, not even once, being told how good my behavior was at any point in time, even when I tried

· not being interacted with beyond what she had to do with me, making it clear that she did not actually want a child and wanted to do no more than the bare minimum parenting while she kept the house clean

· not being shown affection as a child at any point that I could remember

When I say that I am extremely interested in, and motivated by, forgetting about my mother, I mean it.

Growing up, my parents never really showed affection to each other.

Namely, my mother never — not once, not that I could see — showed affection to my father.

I didn’t learn that this was not normal until I began school and began hearing stories of other kids’ parents.

At some point over the course of my childhood (when I was a bit younger, I do remember this much), my father offhandedly mentioned something about my mother no longer wanting him to kiss her because it made her nauseous. Looking back on this conversation with what I know now, I think he used the improper terminology — kissing him made her sick, and for some reason he used the word nauseous when telling me.

Toward the end of her life (and this is something that I don’t remember that much of, especially now that she’s dead, I don’t have to see her, and I don’t have to remember anything about her if I don’t want to… which I don’t), as we were having a conversation before I told her that all conversations from then forward would have to be in the context of caregiving, she said something to me about “never having to work (because of him)” in the context of possibly, presumably entering a relationship with him and then marrying him because she found someone that would enable allow her never to have to work. But it was the context in which she said it. She framed the entire relationship around her never having to work, and based on her facial expressions — she was getting progressively worse at hiding even little things — this brought her joy like she “got one over” on my dad and, to be fair, she probably did. At the time it actually surprised me to have this confirmed, as I was growing less and less surprised with each new thing that came out of her mouth. But thinking back on it, it doesn’t surprise me at all now. She would do almost anything to keep that free house, that free health insurance, and the knowledge that she would never have to work with my dad.

People on one section of that side of the family would probably not believe me if they heard this straight from me, but that doesn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t actually want any children, either, but had one — especially with my dad — because it was “the expected thing to do”. All throughout my childhood, she made it increasingly clearer to me that she just wanted to sit at home and not have to do anything other than keep the house clean. Even as a child, I could tell that she didn’t really want to be around me or engage with me, and for the longest time my dad wasn’t physically around enough for it to matter, even though I wouldn’t have sought solace in him either. Truth be told, the only family members that I actually like are the ones that I’ve begun to keep in touch with due to Ancestry and 23andMe matches. She literally told me to my face at one point that she didn’t want to have any more children because of me, and regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, that’s not something that you tell a child. I honestly believe it though, because she gave my dad the obligate child. One and done. That was all she had to do.

When I had children of my own, I resolved to show them more affection than either one of my parents — but especially my mother, as she was the stay-at-home parent and the parent that I was most frequently around — ever showed me. So far, that has been going swimmingly well for all three involved parties.

I also ideally wanted to have two children because I never wanted either of my children to hear “your mother/parents didn’t want to have any more children because of you“, and am glad that I was able to do so.

One of the very first things that my mother said to me after she had been out of brain surgery for awhile and I got a chance to speak to her was to tell me to “stop faking disability and get a God damn job”. She called me a lazy ass several times and, if memory serves, even called me a moocher once. I try not to think about things like this because I try not to think about her at all now, having excised her from my life after her death.