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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 659305" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Yes, I did. And as she was dying I fell in love with her.</p><p></p><p>But I did not love my mother for her positive aspects. I had been trained as a small child to worship things about her, particularly her beauty and the way she turned on her charm when she wanted to, especially when she went out. But my appreciation of these things was as if a trained dog. I had been groomed or cultivated to do so.</p><p></p><p>My mother's positive aspects were considerable, apart from her beauty. She was brilliant, extremely strong and competent. She was ambitious and a hard worker. I respected these attributes. But I did not love her for them.</p><p></p><p>I loved her because that is who I am, and who I chose to be in relation to my mother at the end of her life.</p><p></p><p>I loved her as she died because she permitted me to love her, and I fell in love with her at the end because she was courageous and strong, and because we went through it together. And however sad this may be, for each of us, we never had more together than we did as my mother died. And I will be forever grateful for this.</p><p></p><p>Cedar really nails it here: You love them to create who you are. Not because of what they are or who they have been. It is almost as if you learn to love them in spite of it.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Actually, that is my sister, Cedar. My mother did not need money to impart value. My mother a priori had high value. She wanted money because it was power and because she deserved it. And because she deserved it she could do whatever it took to get it. No matter what.</p><p></p><p>Cedar, my Mom was like your Mom in this. She believed worship and dedication were her due, despite being an indifferent mother, at best. She did not pretend to have been a good mother. To her, that she be treated as if the best mothers were treated, was her due, despite the reality that completely contradicted such. </p><p></p><p>Like when she took my sister's and my inheritance, knowing it was not hers. It did not matter that there was a valid will. Not one bit.</p><p></p><p>The only thing that mattered was her entitlement. What she wanted was rightly hers. And it was rightly hers if she wanted it. She was truly an emperor with no clothes. And my sister is the same.</p><p></p><p>Again, this is my sister. There was something about houses for her. That she even looked at, went to open houses in top drawer neighborhoods, like Bel Air, or Upper East Side or Pacific Heights in SF, meant to her that she was in the elite, better than everybody else. Especially me.</p><p></p><p>But actually she saw to it that she did buy homes in places such as this. Because if you put these things above anything else, they become attainable, I guess. </p><p></p><p>For so long I felt sorry for myself because it seemed so cruel that my relationship with my son became so difficult, after I had suffered so, lacking a family as a child and adult. And then when things got so hard for us, it felt like more than I could bear, as if there was something in me, about me, that could not successfully relate or even love.</p><p></p><p>I am grateful to each of you for opening up about your parents and sisters, as well as your children, because I no longer feel so alone. And most importantly, by seeing clearly that is was not your fault, possibly, I can come to forgive myself, as well.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 659305, member: 18958"] Yes, I did. And as she was dying I fell in love with her. But I did not love my mother for her positive aspects. I had been trained as a small child to worship things about her, particularly her beauty and the way she turned on her charm when she wanted to, especially when she went out. But my appreciation of these things was as if a trained dog. I had been groomed or cultivated to do so. My mother's positive aspects were considerable, apart from her beauty. She was brilliant, extremely strong and competent. She was ambitious and a hard worker. I respected these attributes. But I did not love her for them. I loved her because that is who I am, and who I chose to be in relation to my mother at the end of her life. I loved her as she died because she permitted me to love her, and I fell in love with her at the end because she was courageous and strong, and because we went through it together. And however sad this may be, for each of us, we never had more together than we did as my mother died. And I will be forever grateful for this. Cedar really nails it here: You love them to create who you are. Not because of what they are or who they have been. It is almost as if you learn to love them in spite of it. Actually, that is my sister, Cedar. My mother did not need money to impart value. My mother a priori had high value. She wanted money because it was power and because she deserved it. And because she deserved it she could do whatever it took to get it. No matter what. Cedar, my Mom was like your Mom in this. She believed worship and dedication were her due, despite being an indifferent mother, at best. She did not pretend to have been a good mother. To her, that she be treated as if the best mothers were treated, was her due, despite the reality that completely contradicted such. Like when she took my sister's and my inheritance, knowing it was not hers. It did not matter that there was a valid will. Not one bit. The only thing that mattered was her entitlement. What she wanted was rightly hers. And it was rightly hers if she wanted it. She was truly an emperor with no clothes. And my sister is the same. Again, this is my sister. There was something about houses for her. That she even looked at, went to open houses in top drawer neighborhoods, like Bel Air, or Upper East Side or Pacific Heights in SF, meant to her that she was in the elite, better than everybody else. Especially me. But actually she saw to it that she did buy homes in places such as this. Because if you put these things above anything else, they become attainable, I guess. For so long I felt sorry for myself because it seemed so cruel that my relationship with my son became so difficult, after I had suffered so, lacking a family as a child and adult. And then when things got so hard for us, it felt like more than I could bear, as if there was something in me, about me, that could not successfully relate or even love. I am grateful to each of you for opening up about your parents and sisters, as well as your children, because I no longer feel so alone. And most importantly, by seeing clearly that is was not your fault, possibly, I can come to forgive myself, as well. [/QUOTE]
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