The last time I spoke with my daughter was the day before we left for Dragon Con Labor Day 2014. I had been in therapy for a year. Tobey was in California finishing up a two week business trip and I was packing all of our stuff for the trip.
And when I say spoke I mean text. Because kids these days don’t call. After that conversation I swore to never communicate with her via text again. And I haven’t. It is way to easy to take things the wrong way or miss an inflection here or there. I was offended by the things she said and I am sure she was offended by what I said about the things she said. The gist of it being concerned about her Face Book posts considering she was a teacher. I was being a parent. She was being a child. I was wrong in her mind. She was right in her mind and she threw down the gauntlet. No doubt eventually it will all catch up with her and I hate to see her lose something she has worked hard for and loves to do: teach. Because we see it on the news all the time: some teacher was fired for her FB posts. But again: that is the parent in me coming out and I can’t apologize for that. Parents worry. No matter how old our kids are. We worry. She will realize that when she has her own children. I hope.
Tobey hasn’t spoken to her since July 2015. She blames me for his actions and claims he is trying to keep the peace. I have no idea where that thought comes from. He never has tried to keep the peace up and until the point we separated in 2003 because I couldn’t handle her behaviors. If ever the peace was being kept by him it was in HER favor always.
My shrink says to let her go. Don’t contact her. It will all start over again if I do – we might have some good times but the bad times will outweigh any good. So I stay silent. And. Mole hills have become insurmountable mountains not just for me but for this entire family.
We have had two Thanksgivings and Christmases without her presence. Her presents that I tucked away in 2014 are still waiting for her and both Christmases I cried when I put them back away. She is loved. She is missed. But. Her actions tell us that that feeling isn’t reciprocated or at least it isn’t reciprocated in a healthy way….
So the aftermath of all of this. *smh* She has badmouthed us on FB and I am sure Twitter. We have been silent and rarely speak of her even to our own children. She allows(ed) her friends to do the same on social media. I don’t blame them – they only have one side of the story. She has taken bits of conversations and used it against me with her (someday future) inlaws. She comes into town for classes and makes no effort to mend this rift that we believe she has started. And at this stage of my life I am done keeping score and trying win people over to my views – she contacted all of her siblings and tried to get them to side against us - they didn't. Her friends post veiled crap on FB about us etc. So while I am done with all this mess. I also miss my daughter. Or step-daughter. Or whatever she thinks I would call her at this point. I know all of this has hurt Tobey to the core. And while I can take any bullshit people deal out at me – please don’t hurt my husband. Because once that was done. Mole hill. Mountain. Claws out. He doesn't deserve this crap. He could have easily let those little girls move to a trailer park in north Georgia with their mother and God knows the life they would be leading today. She really needs to be kissing his ass because he is the best thing she has ever or will ever have in her life. Period. Amen.
I have no idea where we go from here. I am kinda guessing there is nowhere to go at this point because neither of us is willing to back down. There are battle wounds – open, bloody, weeping wounds and there are scars so deep they will never go away. On both sides. But. I miss my daughter. And to be honest. This shakes me. Shakes my faith in anything and everything – I seriously thought this would have blown over a very long time ago. So. I pray that a dialog opens up one day. But it won’t be in the form of a text message. Every trip to Universal I think – maybe I should call. Maybe we can lunch and hash this out. We drive right by her exit on every trip. But I don’t call. I don’t reopen the few wounds that have scabbed over. And I still miss my daughter.