Don’t get me wrong. I can understand why no one wants to openly chat with me about the death (and life) of my parents. It brings up feelings that people associate with pain and so it’s avoided at all costs. In some regard, they’re right about this.
Don’t bother emailing. Ever. You’ll never get a response to an email.
I am a girl who got everything she wanted but was always made to feel like it wasn’t enough. “You can never be happy,” he used to tell me, and oh — how that still hurts to hear.
Or maybe it’s more like a breakup. The way missing her changes everything. The way you wonder, at odd moments throughout the day: what’s she doing now? The way you can’t really picture it — you don’t know enough.
It helps immensely to come from a traditional family.
I’ve dated before, been in relationships, broken hearts, had my heart broken, lost a best friend. But this heartbreak is different. This heartbreak is the kind where your whole being just shatters into a million pieces.
It’s the funny, unexpected twist of parenting. You kids come into our lives. Helpless. Dependent. And along with that we are given a feeling of value and importance because we are needed.
Learn from this situation. Grow from it. You are not your parents, and not all relationships fail.
See your parents through a very limited lens. Think that they are here to teach you, to answer the phone when you have a question about a suspicious mole on your neck or an ache in your belly.
Then, there were those stories that made me want to call up my mother immediately and thank her for never being that insane. To thank her for not embodying the unfavorable stereotypes of the Jewish mother.