It feels as though I am in a constant state of turbulent emotions. For example, my birthday and Mother's Day were four days apart this year and I know, with absolute certainty, that my boys will NOT be calling to wish me a "Happy Birthday" nor will they be calling to wish me a "Happy Mother's Day".
First of all my kids have no idea when my birthday actually is, even though I'm on FB, where Connor and Matthew can plainly see it. Secondly, when Connor was in preschool/elementary school all his handmade gifts went to stepmom, and that set a precedent that still stands to this day. Not once - NOT ONCE - in 22 years have I received acknowledgement of any kind from Connor. Nada. Zero. I couldn't even get his dad to automatically order school pictures for me (I would reimburse him when they were delivered), so I have no school pictures of Connor. No senior pictures. Nothing.
Matthew and Hunter, on the other hand, during the years they lived with me, I received their art projects for Mother's Day. Once Matthew moved to his dad's, at age 5, all that stopped. Hunter stopped when he moved to his dad's house.
Am I bitter? No. Hurt? You betcha. I played by the fucking rules where my kids were concerned by never speaking ill of their dads. (Although I had a LOT to say about Connor's and Hunter's dad. I still do.)
So, my birthday, followed four days later with Mother's Day, followed four days later with the 17th anniversary of the beginning of the HCA and I have a gun loaded, safety off, cocked and resting snugly underneath my chin.
All of the above doesn't even take into consideration how close I came to losing my dad at the end of March.
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