“NO”, I said, voice filled with anger. “I never wish to speak with you again. I don’t want your daily phone calls. Make sure I don’t have to hear you voice ever again. I’m blocking your number. And you better not try to contact me ever again.” I said all this fully aware of the hurt that I was causing, knowing that I was causing irreparable damage. Still I continued, ” I don’t want to you to meddle in my affairs any more. To tell me what is right and what is not. No longer shall I be shackled by your limited views and opinions. No longer are you allowed to judge my friends and habits. Today onwards, my life is just mine. You better rid yourself of the opinion that you own it. I don’t want you to remind me that I need to take the laundry or pay the bill. I don’t need you to constantly prod me into eating my meals on time.”
“I am independent and capable of taking care of myself. Stay away!!” I cut the phone completing this sentence, not even giving her a chance to reply. There was no need. I knew what she would say for I had already heard her quite sobs as she listened to my merciless monologue.
I knew I was hurting the very woman who had given birth to me. The one, who had raised me lovingly. She is the one who had actually made me independent. I did it anyway. I knew she would hurt, that she would cry. I could already hear the ringing of her sobs in my ears. Yet, I didn’t call back and apologize. I didn’t tell her that I love her, that I could still not function without her.
They were her calls that woke me in the morning , and reminded me to take my meals on time. She was the one who kept me sane when work pressures were mounting and my personal relationships were on the verge of breaking up. She was my anchor. The one which kept me grounded. Yet, I had decided to let her go. I chose to let her go because I knew that life as I knew it was over. I knew that now life was just going to be one uphill battle. One chemo session after another. I knew I would not survive. The doctors had decided to be honest with me.
I knew she would never be able to take it. I knew she would die each time she saw me in pain. I’d given her a way out. I would rather she believe that she had an errant child, one who was sick and tired of her, one who no longer needed her, than a dead one. The errant one she could be angry at, rather than the dead one she would just grieve helplessly.
This was a kinder goodbye. I hope.