Apparently it is National Daughter’s Day, or that’s what the internet seems to believe. My Facebook has been inundated the last two days with pictures and posts from mothers honoring and saying beautiful things about their daughters. I started to read some of the posts. Then it got to be too much and I had to stop. I’ll never have one of those posts from my mother. I’ll never be honored on Daughter’s Day. I am no longer a daughter. My mother should have lost that right the first day she laid her hands on me, but she didn’t. Instead, she lost the privilege to be my mother the day I walked out on her 11 weeks ago.
I went to the movies earlier today to try to clear my mind. I thought seeing a kid’s movie would be a safe bet. I was wrong. Instead, I found myself crying five minutes into the start of the movie. Why? The movie began with the father standing by as his daughter got married. I began to think of my own future wedding. And that brought up a whole stream of thoughts about my future.
My father won’t be walking me down the aisle to give me away when I get married. He won’t be dancing with me at my reception. There will be no mother-of-the-bride at my wedding, no heart-to-heart conversation between mother and daughter before I take the long walk down the aisle to married life. There will be no family to share in my happiness and excitement that day. My side of the room will be empty. I’m no longer a daughter. I’m alone.
When I walk down the aisle at graduation in a couple of months to officially receive my degree, there will be no one there to cheer me on. My father won’t be there recording the moment I shake the dean’s hand. My mother won’t be applauding me after I make my speech. There won’t be anyone in the audience for me; no one will be there to take my picture. I’m no longer a daughter. I’m alone.
When I have my first child, my mother won’t be there to help me get through those tough first weeks. I won’t have my mother to turn to for help when I am feeling overwhelmed or have a question I am too embarrassed to ask anyone else. My mother and father will never know the joy of holding their grandchild in their arms and seeing their grandchild’s beautiful smile. I’ll never be able to share each milestone with any of my family. My family will never be there to celebrate each birthday. I’m no longer a daughter. I’m alone.
When I become successful, my mother and father won’t be there by my side to congratulate me. I won’t be telling the world how I couldn’t do it without my parents’ support and guidance. I won’t be thanking them or acknowledging their presence in my life. They won’t be allowed to say “that’s my girl” or pat themselves on the back for a job well done. Everything I have become and will become in the future is no thanks to them. They deserve no recognition or honor. They shattered me into a million pieces and took away the glue. I’m no longer a daughter. I’m alone.
As my children grow older and ask questions about their family, I’ll have nothing to offer them. I have no photographs. I have no happy memories, no stories to pass down to them. My children will never get to know what it’s like to be spoiled by grandma and grandpa. They will never even know that my mother and father exist. All that my children will be left with is a shell of a mother. That half of the family tree will always be empty for them. They will be no one’s grandchildren. They’ll be alone.
When my mother and father pass away, there will be no tears or sadness from me. I won’t be writing their obituaries or delivering any eulogies. I won’t be attending their funerals. I won’t be there as they are lowered into the ground, buried and left to rot. I will never visit their graves, bring them flowers, or say any prayers for them. I’m no longer their daughter. They are alone.
Because of me, everyone is alone.