You have a f***ing 10pm curfew. What the f*** was that.

It’s been pretty amazing having my mom home. There are things we’re working through and it’s been damn sweet doing it in person instead of over the phone. Tonight we had our first major disturbance on that journey.

Sometimes I don’t understand what my triggers are when it comes to her. I’ve learned about pretty big one just now. I always knew it was there, hiding below. I tried to ignore it. Stupid.

Men. My mom and men. That’s my trigger. That’s my biggest, deepest, darkest fear.

Tonight was strike three.

Keep in mind, she’s been “dating” the same guy (he’s a good guy, she hasn’t picked a bad one I think – at least so far I think so) for the last several months. He’s got a job, he’s previously incarcerated (20 years out), he works in a community center. He’s focused on community development. I like his style. We haven’t met but so far, I approve to some extent. 

On second thought, it might only be strike two but it feels like this is where I draw the line in the sand. When they first started dating, I guess they had sex pretty early on. A few weeks in?

I found out because we were going shopping at the mall for something pretty specific to me (graduation dress? Birthday something?) and she was totally brain fogged by this guy. She couldn’t think straight. She just rambled on and on about how he wasn’t texting her back or calling her and ultimately, it became an entire event about her and her relationship.

The part that triggered me more so than the man-blues was when she ineloquently blurted out “No! We fucked!”. And that’s how I found out he’d hit it and quit it. Turns out he “panicked” and they both decided to take things slow so he’s still in the picture. But for a while there, he was radio silent. I dealt with the aftermath.

That statement was gross and weird and still makes me uncomfortable. It crossed a boundary in my frankensteined heart that I wasn’t aware was there. I don’t care if she dates as long as she’s not an idiot. Tonight she went on a walk with him in the neighborhood, didn’t tell anyone, had her phone on silent, and would not have made it home by curfew had I not driven to pick her up and bring her to her front door.

Her roommate, my cousin, called me at 9:47pm to tell me her glasses were on the floor, her purse and wallet still in the house, the tv was still on, and it looked like she’d abandoned ship in the middle of the night and nobody could get ahold of her. I tried to stuff away the panic that I was going to be losing her again. My first thoughts were of her being kidnapped, my cousin’s first thoughts were of her getting picked up by the police. Either outcome was fucked and I wasn’t going to sit at home at 9:51pm and not try to find her and bring her to safety by 10pm when I live less than 5 minutes away.

Keep in mind, this is the same woman who went to jail for thirteen years because of a man. Drugs too, let’s not forget. But ultimately, her entire life and self esteem and bullshit has been about conforming to a man’s wishes and desires that she fucks up her entire life, ditches her kids, and gets carted off to prison for over a decade. What the actual fucking fuck. She called me to complain about feeling like a child and I want to kick her fucking teeth in for being so goddamned stupid.

All the trust and the love and the healing we just went through over the course of the last (almost) year, feels like it has evaporated. I know that’s not true (at least I hope it’s not true) but I am SO ANGRY I WANT TO SCREAM OR PUNCH SOMETHING.

I don’t want to be mean to her I don’t want our relationship to crumble over something like this. I want to overcome, move forward, grow up. This shit is bananas. I am so fucked up by it. 

I don’t want to be angry anymore but I’m so mad I just don’t know what to do with myself and I don’t want to text her a novel like my sister does because on principle, I’m not an asshole.

Has she so easily forgotten how much the fabric of my life, and that of everyone around her, has been inexplicably altered by her dating choices?

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Yet another laundry conflict

I have the memories of a mother
And the heart of a sister
We’ve shifted roles
But she missed so much

When we fight,
I see the crying face of a small child
Running to find her big sister
When all the boys called her names

When they fight,
I don’t know what she sees
Is it from last week? Today?
What face in her head brings her to her knees?

I taunt and torment
We do it to each other
But in the end, I’m wracked with guilt

Is she? Or is hers deeper?
Because of the dark space
Where strangers’ faces have replaced her blood?

What kind of sister am I that I am two things at once
And separating the two is so hard when our father is a child too
How long I’ve been a parent
Raised these buds to flowers
Only to crush the petals in my hands

Plucking on by one
They love me
They love me
No point in punishing myself

Our first set of birthdays together

This may not seem remotely climactic for anyone else, but this year, I will celebrate my mom’s birthday with her, on the day, not on a weekend before or after. Another firm commitment added to the list of family birthdays. It’s surreal.

I have one cardinal rule – mostly because I’m constantly flaking on social engagements – that I do not miss a birthday or holiday. After my cousin died about three years ago, I reevaluated my familial obligations and friendships and I realized how easy it is to say no. It was at that point I realized how many friends I’d undervalued and family parties I’d missed out on.

Things are different for me now. I don’t miss a birthday or a holiday and even if I feel like I’m drowning in work, I feel better afterwards. I take pictures. I engage and live in the moment. So while I have this burning desire to flee, instead I stay. It’s a weird bout of conflicting emotions for a few days leading up to whatever is going on. Now that I intend to move (pending grad school applications), I’m especially glad for my rules. I have memories to take with me now.

So this year marks the first set of birthdays in thirteen years that we get to celebrate together. I think I’ve been compartmentalizing my feelings more than I knew because as time goes on, I can feel the steel of my unwavering walls beginning to weaken. I find myself overwhelmed by emotions at unexpected moments.

I want to kick and shake my mom awake most days. But then I see her smiling face and I shake my head in resignation because I realize how much I love her and missed her and it’s really great to have a face to connect to a voice, a name, a moniker. When her “mommy” caller ID shows up, I cringe less now. I’m starting to feel a warmth in my belly even if I’m sighing as I answer. I’m not sure when this change started to happen but I can tell it’s recent. It’s nice and terrifying at the same time.

She got into a car accident recently, her airbag deployed and she’s got bruises on her arms and legs. She’s so tiny, barely 5 feet tall. I didn’t fully understand how emotional I’d be until I saw her little body standing by the front door to my house and I broke down. I don’t want her to be taken from me again. Even if I don’t feel like seeing her or being around her sometimes because she’s so manic, I mean she puts even my most anxious days to shame. I still can’t imagine my life without her.

I’m angry because of all the time we lost; the time that was cheated from me. But I don’t wish it any different. The concept of a world where she didn’t go to prison feels so shallow and bleak. Those kinds of thoughts instill immediate guilt and I wish I didn’t feel that way but seeing her now, she’s like a child. That place really beat a lot of memories and crazy out of (and into) her. I’m glad I get to be here with her this year.

It’s funny because we went to 7eleven together today and the same cashier who’ve I’ve known for several years saw her for the first time. I introduced her as my mom and at first he didn’t see it and then we both smiled big and shy and our eyes crinkled in the same places and his face lit up as he laughed “you could be sisters” and we both looked down and blushed and said “no no” and then we all sort of awkwardly laughed but it was a golden moment for me and I feel like I need to write it down so it burns in my mind and I don’t forget the gratitude I feel for her being home, safe and sound.

July 4th, Independence Day

This is my last post as a prisoner’s daughter. Sort of.

As I walked back to my dorm, the sounds of fireworks popping off around me, the smell of the sprinklers charging the dirt with water, I realized I would be picking her up in the morning. I drove up to Fresno for this summer arts program and it was the first time I’d been on the drive in two years almost. I told her I didn’t want to visit her anymore in the institution because she would be out so soon and other family was going, but mostly because it’s the most emotionally painful thing I’ve ever really done. It literally feels like a hot iron has been glued to your heart and as it’s pulled away, pieces of yourself get ripped back with it.

So I drove to Fresno for this arts program and cried the whole way.

Tomorrow morning, less than 10 hours from now, she’ll be free.

Tomorrow morning, less than 10 hours from now, I’ll be free.

I’ve been forced to keep her at a distance, keep my feelings at a distance for so long. Tomorrow, I won’t have to do that anymore.

I have so much more to say and yet, right now, that’s all I keep thinking: how foreign and alien the concept of closeness and vulnerability (with regard to her) is to me.

I can’t wait to wake up.

4 more days

I’m dying here. It’s so close. She’s home in four days and I’m so excited. My brother agreed to come on the drive. Never thought he would. We’re not telling her. She’s going to cry so much.

2006 and two more weeks

Kids have weird ways of coping with disasters. In my case, my biggest coping mechanism seemed to be escapism through video games and movies. I was a pro at extracurriculars, academics, and friends. From the outside looking in, I was totally normal and I wanted it that way. Smiling has always been my strong suit.

I say this because as a result of that escapism, I also became a pro at compartmentalizing. They say that the most successful CEOs advocate for a little bit of compartmentalization. I read one article in which a man described it as the only means to success. I wonder if that’s true. For most, I bet it is.

I think about disillusionment a lot and how things really aren’t what they seem. Like Atticus Finch in Go Set a Watchman. Mostly, I’ve been experiencing a lot of “full circle” type moments leading up to my mom’s release. It’s pretty wild. Sometimes it feels like I’m all-in. Other times, I’m watching from a stranger’s window. That balance is required.

Netflix recently recommended a movie to me from 2006 The Covenant. I think it was a 96% match. In 2006, I was obsessed. So no, Netflix, you got that one wrong. 100% match. My mom went down that year I think. Might’ve been 2005, I’m not positive. I saw that movie and all I wanted to do was go to boarding school. I think I saw it a dozen times. In the great ol’ days of AIM, I somehow found a kid about my age who went to boarding school. He lived in Massachusetts and I genuinely believed I would be leaving California to go off to some prep school in the middle of the countryside. I wanted to be anywhere but home. We talked online for hours about absolutely nothing. It was great.

I told my dad I had a headache or a stomach ache probably every other day so I could stay home and play the Sims. I was never an architect in that game. My designs were always so vanilla. I’m at artist so I feel like I’m qualified to say that. Even now, when I rev up the game and play for a couple hours, my designs and layouts are mediocre at best. Something about computers make me literally think in boxes and grids. It helps me focus.

Imagine, I’m at the front doors of puberty, fantasizing about a boarding school boy in Massachusetts living the life I imagined would be perfect. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my closet -because that’s the only place in my room where I wanted my computer- eyes actually glazed to the screen, playing the same DVDs over and over and over until the theme songs and words became ingrained in my mind. My sister and I shared bunk beds. There wasn’t much privacy except in that little computer closet of mine (even if the doors weren’t on it). I would sit there after school (or during school if I was pulling a “sick day”) in my uniform, blast AC, turn on the Sims and watch the same movies on repeat for what felt like forever. Everything else was on, but I was totally switched off.

One of those movies was The Incredibles. I think I watched that movie hundreds of times, even if I was just listening and not really watching. The main menu theme song played about 7 times in a row before I realized it had ended and I’d start it all over again. I don’t know why I remember 7. I think I must’ve counted it from the other room.

At school, you can’t really turn to the kid in line and update them on your mom’s prison sentence without things getting a little heavy. So I kept it light. I played sports, board games, computer games, everything that was a game, I was in on. Even when I did my homework, my friends and I played games or competed to see who could get through algebra 2 the fastest. Private school was surreal. I hopped from one bubble to the next. I never had to interact with the real world at all. It didn’t even matter that I had no idea how to dress myself because we were all in the same colored uniforms. That kind of routine was exceptionally helpful for me. The only times I had to feel anything was at visiting and I stopped going very often after a couple years. I needed the world to blur again.

I made an art project once and flashed people with an electronic flash from my camera. I described my life as a series of bright white lights. The time between those were just as important as the flashes, but I remember the flashes for their contrast and intensity. You can’t just slam someone in the eyeballs with bright lights all the time, you’ve gotta give em a break.

Today, I saw The Incredibles 2 with my dad and my sister for Father’s Day. It was the best one we’ve had so far. There’s been a lot of emphasis placed on the amount of time they took between the first and the second movie and every time someone brings that up I think, ‘14 years feels like a lifetime ago.’

When I was watching it, I kept thinking, ‘I’m so glad they waited. The content is so much better now than it could’ve ever been if they’d made it sooner.’ I think that parallels a lot of my feelings right now. That it’s opening weekend coming up and I’m stoked to see what the plot line is, who the villains are, what the solution is. I’m not really afraid or anything because it’s definitely happening no matter what and in many ways I need it to happen.

In visiting, I always walked by the glass walls filled with women on LWOP (life without parole) sentences. I saw them talking to their families through the glass. I could literally watch them living out their lives in a fishbowl. They were always really young. Maybe prison makes you look younger sometimes. I don’t know. But I always reminded myself that no matter how long it was going to be, she’d be coming home one day. Maybe that’s why they keep the LWOP ladies in with the general visiting population. It keeps you quiet, humble, and grateful all at the same time. Two more weeks. 

37 days

Until she comes home.