“Hi Honey, I miss our chats and I just want to say I never called you a failure. If you want to talk please call me,” you left on my messages.
Thank goodness for the advance warning of love bombing where the narcissist showers you with love and kindness, but with the intent of bringing you back to further supply their ego–not to repair the damage they’ve done. I understand it though, and I don’t begrudge you anymore. It’s a pattern, you’re an old woman and you’ve lived a life of pain.
Once, not too long ago, you said “I have a secret I’m taking to the grave.”
Well, dear Mom, you’ve been living in the grave with your secret for I don’t know how long. I feel pity for you and a great love, but I know I’m not in a position right now to talk to you face to face. I’ve seen your pain, I’ve seen your fear. When I asked for half the inheritance and I was calm and collected and held my own against the two of you (my sister and you), I witnessed your absolute terror and fear the next morning. Your attack was ruthless and when I wouldn’t bite, it became so utterly nonsensical and I watched you become frantic. It was so sad., in so many ways.
To see your own mother’s fear so abject and impoverished was tragic. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to comfort you. And I didn’t know how to comfort myself except just to leave. Perhaps you think that is the coward’s way, but I just stood up and said, “This is too painful. I’m going home now.” And when I was at the door I turned back and said “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” was your response. It was the first time I ever stood up to you. It was the first time you ever saw my strength, and it was the strength of a whisper.