The hurt is immense. It was unexpected, like these things usually are with you, the one who can turn on a pin head and gaslight like the best of them. I have had quite enough of having my heart broken for one life time. There's more hurt to come, yes of course, there's always more hurt. But those closest to me are worried for me... and I am a gentle, kind soul who is so easily bruised...
Could I help you? Yes. Of course I could. It would feel right on the surface level. But it's not that simple, is it? In order to do that, I would have to come to terms with what you did, what you wrote - your words like daggers, well aimed for maximum devastation. Do I brush that aside for the sake of helping you out, so soon, and with the slightest of apologies, and no real time to work at things..? Do I..? Is that even in me? How much of myself am I betraying? Have I not been trying to protect myself these past few years? This would be quite brash and risky of me, putting my heart back into the arena of the unpredictable again. When you phoned, it was because you were desperate for a helper, and the apology came as an obvious secondary thing. Like an after thought, I felt. Yes, I miss you. Yes, I miss my grandson, a lot at times. Yes, I wasn't lying - it was good to hear your voice, my sweet daughter, again after a break of months.
Those around me, who love me, warn me that you are an agent of hurt. A toxic person who will turn against people on a whim. Who cannot put herself into other people's shoes, who cannot empathize or properly sympathize, who will always blame anything and anyone else for her own failings. And we were recently the victims of that ourselves, your Mum and I. Despite a life time of helping you, sometimes at very great cost to ourselves. Instead of a thank you, we got a fuck you. Nice.
Should I help you? I was at first convinced that I should, and would. But there would need to be some rules put in place. But after re-reading the letter, which I am not sure you've even got a copy of as it was handwritten in pencil (but I scanned it), it stung me again. Not a nettle sting or an ant bite - this was the sting of one of those jelly fish that is meant to be one of the worst pains imaginable. This was like that. It hurts the soul, it seeps into the marrow and it sits there, like a poison. And, who wants to be poisoned? Who wants to willingly try and live their life with that inside them? I have enough negative crap in my head to deal with, and I've felt that way for such a long time. I have not made much of my life, but I have a kind heart, and I try to be kind to others, and I do not think I deserve to be poisoned.
The letter was written to cause as much hurt as could be mustered.
Can I help..? Will I..? In light of all of that..? I want to recover things with you. But I do not know at this stage if it is possible or not. I do not know if enough time has passed? I suspect it has not had nearly enough time. I love you so very much. But we have said to you many times before - we are not like you, we cannot flick on and off like a light switch. We cannot make these sharp about turns and suddenly brush things away and carry on like nothing has happened. Now I am truly, truly sorry for the things you have had to contend with in your life. So many of them are of your own making, but I know that any acceptance of that doesn't make things easier. There is no magic wand, just time. Only ever time. You try to take too many short cuts, too many looking for the quick and easy way out of things; the path of least resistance. But I fear that I am not that path for you, not this time, not after the words you wrote to me. Not after the hurt, which is still very fresh.
I want things to be fixed between us. It is very much up to you. Phoning after almost 3 months of nothing, after the pain of that letter, and the first thing out of your mouth is that you need us to look after your son for the day... well, that's a bit rich.
I can't help you at this time.
