Scratch that...

Last night, well technically this morning, I told Kate that in many ways mourning the loss of my mother (the relationship, not physically--she is still very much alive), was like losing my best friend.  In fact, I said she was my best friend.  But this is not the case.  She was/is not my best friend, though at one time I may have been hers.  The lines between mother and daughter were blurred when I was rather young, because of my father's disease.  At 12 and 13, I was who she cried to, sitting on the edge of my bed, worried for the future of our family.  It was in that same time, that I became her protector...stepping in when the verbal assaults became too great.  I was her shield.  It was in this time that I grew up. 

As result of this, I think I saw her as a buddy.  Her authority over me weakened, almost non-existent, because afterall--I took care of her.  I was the adult.  The one who said it would be okay.

As I think about it more, my grief comes from a different place.  I am no longer defined by the role I once held.  There is no one but me, to define me.  I am no longer protecting her, giving her advise, comforting her.  Being the parent--without the holiday, thanking me for all I do throughout the year. 
I am grieving that my mother, and father, are not, nor will they ever be the parents I wanted or hoped them to be.



I know who my best friend is.  It is not my mother. And it never was.