Family...you can't live with them but you wouldn't be the same without them...

So my mother came to visit me this past weekend. She and I are nothing alike. Really...
She is small, flat and little and has short dark hair. I am bigger all over,have boobs and have long blonde hair. If our asses were cars, hers would be a VW and mine would be a Tahoe.
We are as different as night and day. The only thing that distinguishes her as my mother is our eyes, the same green with flecks of blue and brown, and our smile...crooked on one side.
Her personality is high strung, controlling and anxious.
Mine is insanity, laid back and casual, and comedic. I see something good and funny in everything. She sees doom and gloom.
Trust me, we make for a great pair.
Anyway, I survived and so did she. I do a million things that drive her crazy and she let's me know it. I do a lot of ignoring and shrugging it off. If I didn't, I'd be doing 30 to life in prison and my step-dad would be putting flowers on her grave.

The "touchy" subject this weekend was my failure to keep the family farm in the family. I was married before. I got married when I was 17 to the guy I dated in high school. We had a little girl and yes, I got pregnant and had her at 16. I just didn't want to get married to him at the time, but after a year of his family and mine bullying us to do the right thing, we gave in and got married.
I believe he hated me for it. He had plans to go to Alaska and they were all shot to hell when we got married. So let's just say that after the first year, he stopped being very nice to me. We were married for almost six years, so yes, stupid me put up with it for five before finally walking away, still alive thankfully, but that's a different story for a different time.
This farm issue became an issue when my great-grandmother died. She had promised us the first option to buy the farm when she passed away. So we went to the bank, got a loan and bought the farm.
We lived there for two whole years together too, before I escaped with my life and the clothes on my back.
My daughter was safely deposited at my mother-in-law's house, where it was customary for her to be. Thank god for my mother-in-law. And my family, famous for their denial skills, turned their backs on me and I found myself alone.
My friend Rebecka took me in and I got two jobs to support myself. The economy isn't the greatest where I'm from and I ended up waitressing all day and hostessing every night. It still wasn't enough to live on and if it hadn't been for the kindness of my employers, I wouldn't have eaten.
Like I said, thank god for my mother-in-law who stayed neutral in the whole matter and took care of my daughter. I'd go see her in between jobs and spend my free days or nights with her. It was still horrible, but what choice did I have?
So, if I wasn't even making enough money to support myself, how in the world do you think I was going to be able to make payments on a farm, let alone utilities and taxes?
It wasn't going to happen.
So he kept the farm in the divorce. The way I figured it, at least our daughter would have part of it some day. It would still remain in the family.

Plus I was still alive. I assumed my life was more important than a piece of land. Maybe I assumed too much?

It's still a sore spot with my family on occasion. They don't like the changes he's made to the property. They don't like it that he doesn't farm it anymore. And somehow it ends up being my fault. My fault for leaving.

This happened 18 years ago, but they won't let it go.

I feel bad about it, but I look at my husband now and my life with him and I wouldn't trade it for a million family farms. He's good to me. He loves me and he is kind. He treats me with respect and he is faithful to me. I love him with all my heart and would follow him to the ends of the earth.

I am happy. You would think that would mean something to my family. I'm not being fair I suppose. I'm sure it does mean something to them...but occasionally this subject comes up and then nothing else matters. Everything is lost to memories of grassy meadows and fields filled with potatoes blossoming in July. The smell of bread coming from the house to greet you as you stepped up on the porch.

I miss the farm too. But the farm I miss is the one that existed when Grammy was still alive. That farm died with her. It didn't exist for anyone after she was gone...even while I was living there.

So the visit was pretty good up until yesterday when she brought that up and then I just kind of withdrew into myself. I tend to do that a lot, so any time I share something in my journal it's a good thing. She left to go home today and I sat down to write so the process of forgiving and forgetting could begin.

I've talked to her and my nana about how much it hurts me when they bring this up. I've told them both it's the memories, not the land that they miss. I've cried and told them I don't think it's fair that they keep making me suffer for leaving a horrifying marriage.

It goes in one ear and out the other.

So I forgive. I forget. Until the next time.

And there will be a next time. But I won't allow myself to be poisoned by it. As soon as I feel that venom fill my body, I suck it out.

And that...is all I have to say about that for today....