I have been unable or unwilling to add to this memoir blog lately, paralyzed by something, stalled and uncertain. What has it been? Fear? Restlessness? I had this feeling that I should move forward somehow, take some action, try something again. I contacted my mother’s son and commented that I had not been able to reach our mother. I had decided that her lack of email now, and lack of response to my written letter, had left me no choice but to let go. But then he responded with her phone number. Could I call her? After her silence, her continued absence from my life, her lack of any communication these last several years, could I just pick up the phone and call her? I decided to take the risk. It took me two weeks to finally make the call, but when I did she answered. We talked. We talked of the present and the past, just like that, we had an actual conversation. Through tears she told me again that she regretted not fighting back all those years ago when my father told her that she should let my sister and me go. I told her I did not blame her. Again, I gave her my complete forgiveness, my complete understanding. I reminded her that I knew she had planned to take us with her, but when my father found out he had thrown her out, forcefully. I reminded her that I knew all this.
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