My Family Is From Hell

I've always hated the bullshit between my father and my mother. Ever since I was little, I can remember them not getting along. It's not that they yelled at each other or that one was physically abusive to another. I remember once, distinctly, my father had tried the pick out the perfect necklaces. One of them was silver strands with turquoise beads. He had bought them for their anniversary, wrapped up nicely. I was still in elementary school (so you know, that was a long time ago). She was standing in the kitchen, at the sink, probably smoking a cigarette. My father came up behind her to give her a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, she shrugged him off. She never opened the presents he gave her. Later, I opened them and they became mine. Later still, they were lost in "The Great Tragedy of San Diego". But the reason I remember so distinctly this moment, is that I felt deeply hurt by my mother's actions. Here he had tried so hard to find something nice for her, and she didn't even open the gift wrap.

Flash forward to the present date. Now that my brother is gone, they're still fighting over stupid shit. Number one gripe on the list is the lack of compromise on a resting spot for my brother's remains. I want to be able to visit him on his birthday, which is the 16th of this month. Every place my dad and I like, my mom hates. Every place that we hate, she seems to favor. It's petty and it's stupid and I'm pissed off because I'm caught in the middle.

I was always caught in the middle. When my mom was having her affair, she used to make me cover for her. She and my father both were pissed off at me when I accidentally spilled the beans and told my dad that we were living with the asshole she now calls "husband".

Tonight, my mother came to the house to look through my brother's things. She callously pointed out, "This is mine, and that is mine..and that lamp belongs to me." On the way out the door, she took a rust colored, knit blanket that has been in this house for over 10 years. It's my cat Toby's favorite blanket, because he thinks he's a ninja when he sits on it. We've been using it to cover up during winter movie nights for years. So, my mother comes along and claims that it's a blanket her friend made for her way back when. I tried to coax her into leaving it where it was.

As she scrambled out the door, my father caught sight of it. He looked at me with a question mark on his face. Now, he's so outraged that she took that blanket that he couldn't even dial the phone to call my grandmother and confirm that it was her creation. He's pissed. He's swearing. And that old, ancient guilt creeps up inside me. "I tried to convince her to leave it" I pleaded with my dad. He rants about how he never should have taken his eyes off of her and how isn't it just like the bitch? I knew there would be conflict the minute she stepped in the door with her second husband and her grandchild right behind her.

I'm pissed at my mother. Her husband and grandchild have no business being in this house. She had no business trying to collect dusty and imagined debts. My father let her in here in good faith and she betrayed it. Just like when he tried to give her that jewelry she never opened.

I'm pissed at my father too. It's a blanket. Sure, it's one we all liked and one my grandmother probably did make. But, it's a blanket nonetheless. It certainly isn't something to give yourself a coronary over. Fucking parents. When this thing with my brother's ashes is over, I hope they never speak to each other again. Hell, the way things are going, I might move out and not speak to either of them myself.

I'm so damn sick of this shit.