My Mother

I got a call from my brother yesterday saying that my mother had passed away. She and I had not spoken in over a year and probably would not have for several more. Lovely thing to say about your mother, huh?  When I first heard I assumed that she had committed suicide. It wouldn't have been the first time she had made an attempt. Later it was determined that it was natural causes. So I can't even be angry that she did it. That may have been easier to deal with. For now, I am dealing with the fact that the issues we had will never be resolved. Not that I completely expected that they would be, but as long as she was alive there was always a chance. I was by no means ready to be at that point though. She was never much of a mother emotionally and I don't think she really even cared about me deep down. I will never know if she took any responsibility for what she did to us the last months before we stopped speaking. None of the anger I have will be able to be released by speaking to her. For the past few months I have been going through a period of self loathing because I see her when I look in the mirror, my hands are her hands, some of my mannerisms are hers. I don't want to be her. I don't want to be like her. I don't ever want my children to come to a point that they don't ever want to see me again.
My two youngest children did not shed a tear when I told them. They lived with the destruction that the last few months of living with her created. Does that say something about me? About her? I don't know. All I know is that any sort of normal grieving is probably not possible.

I apologise for not being around the last few weeks. I have been isolating and was determined that I would make the effort to start participating in life again, but now I am not sure what I am doing. Going thru the motions to get thru the day I suppose.