Every day I prayed that I would not be my mothers daughter.. I didn't want to be like her. I won't say she was a "bad" person. She only knew what she did. All she knew how to do was comply. I was told my entire life that I was a fighter, a survivor. That made me proud. I watched her be helpless her entire life, not an ounce of fight in her. So I thought. I watched as her illness turned her cold, uncaring. I remember loving her as a small girl. How I would crawl into bed with her and hold her hand under the covers, while my father was out with his girlfriend for the night.

God knows the woman never so much as boiled water in her entire life. I don't remember the day I closed her out of my emotions. She soon just existed. I didn't see her as a nurturer, or even guardian. I would come home from school every day and there she would be, sitting in her wheelchair, in the same spot as when I had left, looking ahead. Not even out a window or anything. It might just be a panel on the wall, but she would fixate on it. Sometimes for days.

And here I was, the strong one of the girls. Who never took no for an answer. I kept my head high, and refused to be defeated like that woman had. I wouldn't accept what life had given me.. I was determined to take everything I could from it. I would not be that woman, to just allow the cards to fall where they may.

She passed away when I was expecting my daughter, both of us entirely too young. When my girl was born I promised her that I would give her everything I never had. The easy part was making sure she had food, clothes, and a warm home that never changed in the middle of the night. The one thing I wanted to give her, that I never had, hopefully someday will, was to feel safe. When I chose to end the marriage with her father, my husband of 8 years, for no other reason except I never loved him, I tried to make her feel safe. Bottom line is.. she would never allow me to. She has her daddy for that. So as of now, she lives 4 hours away from me, and by her choice, I just exist in her life. The fighter in me screams that it is not right. While my mother in me sits there allowing it to happen, knowing she will be ok without me. She is my daughter, what more did I really expect?

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