I wrote in an earlier post about my childhood, and the many examples of awfulness it contained. I noted that I hate Mother’s Day.
I have not communicated with my mother since last Mother’s Day in May. She has not communicated with me either. I saw from my Uncle’s posts on Fussbook that she’d been to visit her brother in Australia, which was something she’d been talking about doing when we last had a full conversation, on her birthday in April.
I am having a difficult time deciding how I feel about this silence. If it were only on my end, I think I would feel empowered. But because it is double-ended, I have uncertainty: I don’t know whether at some point she will attempt to contact me again. That leaves me with a certain degree of anxiety.