No, Nmom was hollow and didn't know how to connect imaginatively or with empathy. She'd been raised poor in a fear-based religion and being socially correct and proper was more important to her than anything else. I don't blame her for it any more at all, forgave her long back, but she did not respond to me as though I was real or my sadness had weight. (I doubt hers did when she was little.) Propriety and conformity meant everything. I dreamed and read my way through just like you, Amber. Unfair though--Mom was obsessed with child literacy as a teacher.
Hmmm. Reminds me of Poet, in a way. AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH! Snap! Yikes!
How blind can I be? Wonder how many more relationships I'll get into like this? And Poet had early abuse and abandonment. I don't know how far grandfather went with Mom, but regardless, she knew what he was doing and I'm sure it broke her mind.
I'm pretty shook this week, post Poet, but I'll be okay soon. Venting to y'all has meant a TON.
Grateful hugs,
Hops
