Usually I make a point of starting all correspondence with “Dear…” but you are not now, nor will you ever be, dear to me. So much so that I cannot bring myself to write it.
You will never read this, in fact I very much doubt even your daughter will read it. But that is not why I am writing it.
My anger, neigh my disgust at you is such that I cannot let it be contained within me, for fear that it has the power to poison my blood. How dare you speak to your own child like that? How dare you leave her in pieces and abandon her to pick them up herself? How do you wake up in the morning, look at a child that tries so hard, that struggles so much and that loves so deeply and turn your back on her?
Perhaps you don’t.
But it is the only way I can rationalise your behaviour, that you simply do not care, or worse yet they you honesty harbour malice towards your own daughter. I have not lived in your house, I cannot attest to her treatment of you, nor can I say that I have witnessed your treatment of her. But I can say that I have spent hours worrying desperately about a person you destroy in SECONDS. I can tell you that whilst you move on, whilst you start new arguments and cause fresh heartache I am replaying the last conversation of that sort in my mind and hoping that I said the right thing. I stopped tears, or provided warmth in the winter of your relationship.
I cannot say that I have witnessed one of your arguments, but I have witnessed the fall out, I have seen the aftermath and walked in the shadow of your destruction. I am in a position to dislike you.
To a woman I have never met, you make me sick beyond words, you pain me beyond pain, and I dislike you not only in my conscious mind, but in my soul.
To a woman I have never met, I am not a mother, but one day I hope to be one and I can only pray that my children will never feel as your children feel.
To a woman I have never met, it is entirely possible that I one day will meet you, and I will smile my sales assistant smile and trot out my customer voice and be polite and gracious and the cookie cutter bright-young-girl I have been my entire life and you will not know that inside I am seething.
To a woman I have never met, she is better than you in every way. You don’t know that yet, but let me tell you, to everyone else is it is glaringly obvious.
To a woman I have never met, I am truly sorry you cannot see her worth, because I do, and others do, and we are blinded daily by her light, we are amazed endlessly by her intelligence, and we are left breathless by her endearing charm and effortless wit.
To a woman I have never met, I dislike you, but perhaps I pity you more.