I still don’t have it in me to write.

In the morning, I tell C to pick up stones. She is not in the mood. There are a lot of reasons for this, but she has been crying for most of an hour. This is probably because of me. She probably feels worthless and that she does not deserve anything. That is her body language perhaps.

I tell her that the different weights of rocks are like love. Some people love stronger than others. Some people love you if it’s not too difficult. I drop the lightest rock. And if it’s too difficult…

I ask her who loves her like the lightest rock. She doesn’t know. I say maybe people who don’t really know you.

How do people love you? The third rock. (She can lift this one but it’s not terribly easy.)

How much do I love you?

She doesn’t know.

I love you like you are trying to pick up the house. It’s impossible, but I will make it possible.

Later, I realize my own mom loves me like the lightest rock. If it is easy, she loves me. But a hangnail might take priority over me.

And that’s why my dad raped me. Because she just really did not care enough to stop him. I have felt sorry for her before. I have felt understand. C makes me unable to understand her position. I was her child and I was helpless and she did nothing. She watched it. She participated in it. And she did nothing. She did nothing because she was afraid of my dad or he made her special or she felt she could not live without him or I don’t know what. But I would eat my own hand before I let my dad do anything to C that eve resembled what he did to me.

I cannot imagine my mother’s position. I cannot.

This realization does not come on its own though. I mean, it brings with it a childhood full of a sense of irrelevance, of greyness, like I just could not get her attention. A coloured hanky was brighter and more attractive than me.

And it fills me with a sense of loss I didn’t realize I needed to feel, because really it means there is, in a way, something to mourn. It is not an absence. There is a person inside there and that person has almost no capacity for connection to me. I do have a mother. It’s not that there was never anyone there. I have a mother who doesn’t care, who has almost no capacity to care, and whatever her own problems is selfish very nearly to the core.

That’s who she is.