I’m her child too.

I guess separation shows its impact in different ways. A year of not seeing my family has brought forth so many obstacles. I will admit, that my father and I have always had a very tight relationship, and if anything, this time apart has brought us closer. However, my sister and mother are a whole different case.

Oh Deniz. I missed her instantaneous growth spurt in the winter months closing in on the year 2013. We now share more of the same interests and bra size. Her personality is much stronger than mine at her age, so that would explain my distaste for her lack of modesty and her quick answers to my criticisms. In any case, I try to come to terms with her new identity and we make up as soon as one of us realize that our comments may have genuinely hurt the other. I have the quicker temper out of the two of us – like our mother – so it’s just a matter of knowing how to take a couple seconds to breathe and assess the situation. Deniz gives me enough practice, I’ll admit that.

Speaking of the famous progenitor, my mother and I are definitely the ones who are affected the most by this separation. Before I moved out, our tempers clashed regularly. My dad and I joke around that she needs her daily fix. So far, we haven’t been proven wrong. It’s not bad. She just needs to unleash the force on someone (preferably myself or my dad since Deniz is the baby of the family) to get that dose of energy. Is that normal? I don’t know, but at this point, it’s become routine.

Since my arrival in Turkey, the two of us have gone at it multiple times a day and have only had two really big arguments. It’s funny though, the fights aren’t what’s bothering me. They bring me back. They bring us back. It’s as though everything is like it once was and we’re together for good again. What bothers me, is that my own mother seems to forget me.

How do you forget your child? I realize that maybe I’m being harsh and I should think about the fact that she’s probably just losing track of time catching up with distant relatives, but how could she not remember that I’m the one with the limited time? That I want to see my family too? That her admitting to forgetting me is like a stab in the heart, except instead of a one time physical pain, it’s the constant reminder in your mind that your presence is no longer significant in your mother’s life.

your presence is no longer significant in your mother’s life.

Is that even possible? Should I confront her about it? So many questions are now going through my head so I may as well just give a brief account of the events.

After a really great day, the four of us went to my Uncle’s house to greet the relatives who had come in earlier that morning (my cousin is getting married in a week so the place will be swarming with family soon). My dad was the only male there, so I made the excuse that we would go water my grandmother’s grave and then proceed to go home. My mother nodded her approval and told us her and Deniz would stick around for some tea and then call us to pick them up. Anyways, we arrived home and as usual, my dad retired to the back room and I took my book out (The Night Watch by Sergei Lukyanenko) and lay down on the couch. About an hour in, I guess I fell asleep and suddenly I seem to be talking to my mother on the phone. At first I don’t even know what she’s saying, then she’s telling my that they’ve gone down to the waterfront and are sitting by the park. I don’t recall what I said to her, but I asked for my sister. She was having the time of her life with a girl her age. My conversation with her is a blur as well, although she did get quite angry and asked me if I wanted her to tell our mother that they should come home. After calming her down I told her that I just simply wouldn’t be able to come down because it would be unfair for dad to drive me down and then go back home -he wouldn’t want to socialize- and then come back again in half an hour to pick us all up.

It hurts that my mother thought about calling for me hours after we left. It hurts that she didn’t think about it before they all left the house. Or after she drank her tea. It hurts, because even if I do confront her, she’s going to apologize and we’ll both cry and I’ll forgive her again. She’s not a bad mother, but in the end, I’m the daughter that she won’t see for another 12 months. In a matter of days, Deniz will be the only one she’ll be back to caring for full-time. Maybe I’m being harsh, but I’m her child too.



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