I got postcard from my Mom’s mother for my birthday today. My birthday is on 9th of January. I kinda got used to it, but it still hurts a tiny little bit. My Mom’s mother is, of course, my grandmother. I just don’t call her that because she doesn’t consider me as her granddaughter so basically she’s not my grandmother.
The postcards always say:
Happy birthday, Ms Burton.
Always. And sometimes she sends me little gift. Today it was one chewing gum. Only one small chewing gum. When I was little she didn’t even bother to send me a postcard or even call for my birthday. I remember when I was four, me and my Mom met her at the grocery store. My Mom said hello, because… Why wouldn’t she? She hates her, but she doesn’t need to show it to anyone except her close family (like us or her brothers). Her mother just looked at her and then looked at me and said: ‘Oh. So you still have this.’ and pointed at me. I actually remember this happening. And I was only four! I asked my Mom who it is and she said it’s her mother. Since then I call her my Mom’s mother. She started to send me birthday cards after this unpleasant meeting randomly once a year because she has no idea when my birthday actually is. Mom is the only girl from the seven children my grandpa and Mom’s mother have. Grandpa always loved my Mom just like he loved his six sons. Maybe even more. But her mother? Not even a little. I mean, she was always clean and had enough food and clothes etc but she always says she felt like her mother doesn’t do it because she loves her. She took care of her because she had to. She’s old school. She took care of her because ‘what would the neighbours say if she didn’t?’ When my grandpa died when Mom was seventeen, she found a job and moved into this house (and met my dad and had me two years later). Grandpa bought her this house when he was still alive (because he knew her own mother would kick her out as soon as she’s eighteen) and he dedicated the house to her in his will. Mom says her mother was angry, but couldn’t do anything about it, just started to hate my Mom even more. But Mom couldn’t care less. I’ve never met Mom’s mother since that incident at the grocery store. Well, maybe I did, but I don’t really know what she looks like. She lives in our town and I know around where and if I wanted, I could go meet her, but I really don’t. My uncles visit her all the time, but we never did. I bet she doesn’t know about Summer or Alex or about the fire. She doesn’t care for sure. I know she’s going to the church every Sunday and on every mass and I once heard my uncle Joe saying to Mom that she’s praying there for every child she has, but not my Mom. My Mom’s name is Amanda. She hates to be called Amanda simply because her mother called her Amanda all the time. And she always told her how she hates her name. I’m really proud of my Mom to be that cool and loving and okay as she is considering what bi*ch of a mother she has. But my six uncles are okay and they love Mom and me and Summer so much. I think they feel guilty because of their mother. And I love all my uncles as well, it’s just a shame we’re not seeing each other that much as we did when I was smaller. Five of them live outside our town with their own families now and one of them lives here. We see each other’s family about once a month what is okay, but I miss them. I used to play with my cousin all the time but now we’re going to different schools and have different activities. It’s just sad. Wow, I can be pretty nostalgic sometimes!