Almost everyone is familiar with the phrase “there’s no use crying over spilled milk,” but who is it that cleans the mess?
I, like most people, was taught growing up that when you wrong someone it’s your duty to set things straight. So who cleans the milk, the one who spills it or the one it’s spilled on?
It’s been two months since I last talked to my mom, a heated and impersonal conversation over text that resulted in so many callous things to be said about me simply because I stood up and said the situation was “uncalled for.” And it was. Since then my oldest son has asked about her numerous times, telling me he misses her, and I can see where it’s hurting him which is killing me. People who don’t understand or know the situation from start to finish (since I was twelve until this point) try to persuade me to make first contact but the problem I have with that is as follows:
She spilled the milk. Not once, not twice and has never once tried to clean it up. She lets it soak deep into the carpet and watches, knowing that the deeper it sinks the sooner she can go back to acting like it had never happended at all.
My carpet is covered in milk. It’s sopping wet from years of lacking apologies and though it stinks, I’m not going to pretend the milk isn’t there anymore. I’m not going to plug my nose, shrug my shoulders and pretend that everything is fine. The longer it sits, the closer I get to throwing it away and forgetting about that damn rotten milk covered, no apologies, everything fixes its goddam self rug!
I’m frustrated as a mother and even more frustrated as a daughter. The irony that the same person who helped teach me to right my wrongs is sitting at home waiting for the milk to dry instead of cleaning it up is unbelievable, truly it is. Two months! I can’t go two days without my children…
I’m hoping for resolve and thankful for blog therapy, because writing about it helps where thinking about it doesn’t.