And so I did... But I'm not sure why...

After a lot of back and forth conversations (with myself, mostly), I bit the bullet and mailed a letter to my mother. It wasn't mean. It wasn't pitiful. It was an "olive branch". It was as much as I could muster up to try to communicate with my mother.

A few weeks passed and one day, out of the blue, I checked the anonymous email I'd set up for the sole purpose of her response. And there it was. She responded. I held my breath as I opened and by the second sentence, I was sitting, chin on the floor, asking myself why I even bothered. It was the most manipulative, guilt-ridden, pity party, delusional fiasco of a letter I've ever read (well, not counting her previous letters, of course). I drove home, aggressive music blaring, windows down, trying to find a way to sort through that mess. When I got home, I had wine... and more wine... talked to my husband... then he had wine... and then a mixed drink... Yep, it was that bad.

I marinated on her letter for a couple of days, pondering whether or not to respond and trying to find a way not to dismiss her altogether. Finally, as respectively as I could, I drafted a reply. It didn't take long before she had more to say - and it was much of the same BS as her first note. After several eyerolls and "Why the hell did I even do this", I began to realize that it was going to be next to impossible to reason with my mother.

As of today, we've corresponded back and forth three times. It's a nightmare really. I am trying not to disrespect her but it's getting more and more difficult to bite my tongue, particularly when she tells bold-faced lies or tries her hand at manipulating me the way she used to. As much as I miss having a mom, I am not going to allow her to bring unnecessary drama into my life. I am trying - and if she cannot appreciate my efforts to reach out and try to fix what is broken - then she does not deserve to be in my life.