When I met your family, I left thinking of the show The Waltons. They were incredibly kind, gentle and welcoming people. I recall that we had dinner there for an occasion, possibly a birthday, possibly an anniversary. We weren't really seeing each other at that point, you had just become an entity in my life that was constant and all encompassing. Meeting your parents was more like an after school visit, where your mom made cookies while we all sat in front of the VCR watching skate videos and listening to punk rock.

Your mom had the warmest smile. She asked me questions and I was automatically entered into the “helping set the table” role. It all felt very strange to me, as my family growing up was not this sight of perfection. Your dad was handsome and like a dad, a bit corny, but you could tell the both of them loved you and your youngest brother very much.

We ate cake that night and then went to the downstairs to hang out. I think all of us hung out there for quite some time, hanging out in your family den. The decor of your parent’s home was a mix of mid-century modern and lots of Earth tones. More Brady Bunch than the Walton’s Farm. I recall sitting in the brown leather Wassily chair and liking the design. Your dad being an architect seemed fitting. Your mom, I didn’t know what your mom did until later, turns out crafts was a very lucrative business.

My mom and I had a very unfortunate relationship while I was growing up, in my teens and 20s it had reached a point of non-communicative bliss. It was a stiff, bitter drink to say the least. Your mom came into my life and showed me what a “perfect” mother should be. She would hug me warmly, make me cookies, show me how to cook and sew things, she taught me mostly about you. She took me in as though I were her own cub and I grew to love her fiercely. There were not enough thank yous, cards, or appreciation that lived up to all the wonderful things your mom did for me, so it was easy for her to become my second mother.

She was a quiet woman, your mom. I should say, soft spoken, which is a more accurate a term. She was kind, always giving to someone or something. Kids would roll up and out of the house to hang with your brother and it was unlike any house I’d ever seen. I remember asking your mom where your brother was one night because all his friends were downstairs and she answered, “Oh he’s probably in bed or skateboarding.” She was fine having a ton of kids in the house which was the total opposite of my mom. I remember expressing to your mom the way my mom would handle situations with me and she would gasp, visibly appalled by it. Your mom was easy, she required no airs nor did she give any judgements…that I could see.

My childhood wasn’t full of ‘I love yous’ or hugs or any warmth whatsoever. It was quite a strict and regimented path to adolescence, sometimes harsh. It made sense that I’d get along with your mom. She had the patience my mom didn’t and although I got along with most parents, your mom in particular was special. She basically eased the process of our getting together. When you were calling me “my friend”, she had already accepted me as her future daughter-in-law. For the six and half years before our marriage, she made countless dinners, every holiday was filled with tons of gifts and joy and food, she helped us with our pets, she helped us go on trips, she made sure we had every single thing we needed….or wanted. I had a hard time acclimating to such availability because I was always taught to work hard, that nobody was going to take care of you. Someone lied to me.

It wasn’t because of the things she did for us, it was more about how she treated me. I always felt like I could talk to her, that she would be able to miraculously make me feel better. She always had an answer, and if she didn’t she made it seem like it would all go away —and it did. I remember when I lived with a few cats and one day one of them patted me on the lips — with her claw! My lip began to swell to at an expeditious rate, leaving me in my bedroom in complete terror at the site of the massiveness. I had to be at work in a few hours and I had no idea what had happened. I called your mom. She was there within half an hour with a bottle of Benadryl and a smile. I was so embarrassed, yet I knew she take care of me. Anytime I had a decision to make, I would call for her advice. She was my friend, she became a second mother, not only to me, but also my friends. Where my mom didn’t want to know about my life, your mom filled it.

My son will always have what he needs. I will always make sure he’s taken care of.

There wasn’t a lot of mixing of your and my family. Well, they loved Dad, they didn’t care for mom and it was pretty obvious. My mom takes a special hand. She doesn’t hide her feelings very well and she is quite opinionated on many issues. This is just my mom. My mom was formal and your mom was always with open arms. When you and I got engaged after 6 years, I knew I was getting a dream family along with it. I wouldn’t have those stories of Mother-in-Law cliches, mine wouldn’t need handling. Mine would be the perfect grandmother to my unborn children, she will spoil them when I couldn’t, and she will be the epitome of sugar cookies and a good stories. I was getting so much more than you.

We always taught our sons to work hard and follow their dreams.

We’ll get into your whole ‘career’ later, for now let’s talk about the reveal. The phone rang at 7:45ish AM. The girls and I were not even trying to stir as we had a night of dancing and champagne in our hotel room. “It’s his mom.” I took the phone and was greeted by the soft spoken voice, “Good morning, Sleepyhead. We sold the car last night, but we need to get the title, so I need you to go to DMV.” I shot up from the hotel bed, “Excuse me? How am I going to do that right now, I’m getting married today!” My best of friends, took the phone and explained to her how it would not be possible to do such a thing on this day. It ended in me putting my face in the pillow and screaming. For the first time ever, your mom elevated the pitch of her voice. It was stern and aggressive and according to her, I was getting my ass to DMV. So while you slept all comfy in our bed at home, I had to somehow avoid having black bags under my eyes to accompany the handmade wedding dress I was going to wear in a few hours.

I sat in DMV fuming. I apparently needed to also renew my license while I was there. “Oh, you have to retake my photo too?” From the years 2003-2006, my pissed off, unkempt, and unpainted mugshot was license portraiture. It was the very first time I was mad at your mother and she was audibly with me. As we rolled up to the venue, we looked at each other and as stubborn as I am, saw her face, she smiled sweetly and “I’m sorry.” aired out of my mouth. If it were my mom, I would be in the parking lot with her waiting to get smacked with a chancleta for being so disrespectful, as I tried to defend my positioning on the matter. I mean she did put this wedding together for me.

I thought it was strange in the first few months of our marriage that your mail was still getting delivered to your parent’s house. Your mom explained that she needed to see the credit card, phone, and school loan bills. She tended to oversee these things along with your father. I think I talked to your mom probably almost every single day. I watched her take care of your brother’s hiccups while he decided which college he wanted to attend, I watched her take care of all of all the animals, including ours. I watched her take care of her mother, your dad’s mom, and anyone else who needed it. She supported all of us in all capacities. She would attend your shows, pay your bills, buy groceries, cook dinners, plan holidays, sew me pillowcases, give me rides, I mean the list goes on to the angelic qualities your mom possessed.

You and I didn’t fight. We bickered. I never had a reason to fight with you, we just always got along, even if we didn’t agree with each other. You liked that I was fiery. You loved that I had that Latin sassiness. We had to live with your parents for a year the year we got married. (Note to audience: I heard the gasp, NEVER live with your in-laws the first year you are married) But I loved your family.

It is absorbing when you encounter how people live. It’s one thing to see them from time to time, spend a holiday week with them, that sort of thing, but to actually live with others is a study in social psychology. Your parents took us in because you weren’t ready. We had made grandiose plans of moving to New York and when I decide something, it’s very hard for me to change my mind. I quit my job at the lab, didn’t renew our lease, and was prepared for starting a whole new life experience. You weren’t ready. We had no choice but to move in with your family until we could move. I took a job at a local restaurant because I didn’t want to start anything serious that would keep me in Richmond. You continued your job teaching drum lessons.

it was fine for the most part. A little awkward at times, having sex across the room of your parents can be a little “held back” I’ll say. We tended to use our shower time to compensate for the lack of privacy. It was their house and all, we were the ones intruding. What was only to be a few months ended up being a year before we found our residence in Ridgewood. Your mom made sure we were fed and cats were taken tended to. It wasn’t an unpleasant time there, but what I did discover is that your mom does not appreciate conflict. Anytime we would bicker, she would literally put her hand on our shoulders and pacify the situation with ice cream or quieting words. And it worked every single time. We would both chuckle and the disagreement would end. I don’t do things like that, I am a stubborn little bitch when I want to be and I was no different with you. If I wanted you to do something, I expressed it wholeheartedly. We were equally bull headed when it came to certain things. We never argued in hate, we just escalated in tone or made our points assertively. I realized I could never have a disagreement with you at the house.

The news came quickly. You had gone up to New York to deliver a harp (side gig) and our friends told you they were leaving Ridgewood to go to Jersey City. I hadn’t seen the apartment, except for some grainy video you had sent, but I was in and the next thing I know we are off to our new adventure. Your parents didn’t disappoint in that they moved us there. Packed and moved us, like it was no big deal. Left us with good advice and let us know they would be there if we needed anything.

They came up pretty regularly, especially for St. Patrick’s Day. They slathered themselves in the ancestry they claimed, as if they had gotten off the boat yesterday. That was your dad’s thing, he loved claiming his heritage and he never hesitated to remind you. Your parents had a very loving and devoted relationship. I don’t think I ever saw them really argue, maybe a disagreement here and there, but your dad always seem to win that struggle. Living with your parents I realized their dynamic was very “Meet the Cleaverseque”. Your mom was no dummy, but it was your dad who had the “real job”. When your parents came up to visit, they always had a truckful of groceries with them, a Costco trip we were thrilled to receive. We showed them the city the way we were experiencing it and they paid the way mostly. If we needed anything, they would provide. I used to tell your mom how bad I felt that they were always doing stuff for us, but she would smile and say, “But that’s what we’re here for! That’s what parents do.”

It was your mom I knew would comfort me during the time at the hospital. It was she I would look to for comfort and positivity. I could always count on her for those things, but I soon realized after the news of your accident, it would be me having to comfort her. I saw her hands grasping the rail of your bed while she howled at your shocked body. Her eldest son, lying there in non-response. It broke my heart. I was only glad that your grandmother was not alive to see you or her like that.

As the days wore on, I felt in my heart I had lost. I had no fight in me because I couldn’t take that away from your parents. Your mom didn’t make it easy for me, there was a deep and evident severance between the two of us. We were all tired and things were emotionally tense. If you could imagine all the things inside my head at that time, you would understand how many snap decisions and conclusions I came by. You always knew I could read a room better than anyone. You marveled at my ability to go against common opinion and declare a different perspective or theory, but learned to trust my intuitiveness. I knew your mom pretty well, probably more than she knew she was giving me. When we received the news, we hugged each other in disbelief and helplessness, but as the days rolled on, your mom revealed herself once more to me.

My mom is not a warm and fuzzy person. Her idea of showing you that she loves you, is to put her hand on yours and tell you to be prepared. Your mom will tell you everything is going to be right because she prayed it so or willed it so. Power of suggestion.

We need a notarized letter from you saying your separated, I know you aren’t, but since he doesn’t have insurance it will help him get the Medicaid.

I would have done anything for you. I did everything for you always, so when your mom came to request that I write a letter stating we were separated so you could get financial assistance, I agreed. I knew what she wanted. All she had to do was ask. My dear friend got us a hotel room one night, so we could rest and shower. The same friend who had once stood up to your mother on my wedding day. Finally, I had some support. Your parents were hesitant on taking the offer of the hotel room. I confided in my friend and told her things didn’t seem right and how much I couldn’t lose you. I just want to give you a little side note here for the readers:

We go in and out of this life meeting people. We friend people. We bed people. We break up with people. There are only a few people that grow with you on your life path. Those that will be there when things get really bad, those, those are the ones you keep forever. The rest you can bury.

Your parents ended up coming to take showers at the hotel. The energy I felt was tightly wound in a ball that would shoot off the four walls if you let go of it, breaking everything in its path. “We only want what’s best for him. You’re our daughter and we love you, but we need to do what is best for our son. Whatever is going on with you and her and him is between you guys.” That was supposed to make me feel better. I felt it was a way for them to pacify me.

A few days later, that love they felt for me was long gone. Your mom would have control and she would see to her son’s happiness. Things erupted when I decided to put my foot down. I made a decision for you because I KNEW YOU. I knew every word that would come out of your mouth, I knew exactly how you were feeling under all those tubes, I knew exactly what you would have wanted and so the moment I decided to shut everyone up, it lashed out back to me ten times fold. Your mom had already replaced me. I was no longer someone she loved or trusted or wanted to share any kind of empathy with, her goal was to get you back. I saw her show Her comfort. In all my tears and anger and sadness, I became an outlander that would be as forgotten as the many things your mom swept under the carpet.

The months that had occured before your accident was one of many mysteries, but your parents made no qualms of making me feel like shit when they reminisce about their good time here during St. Patrick’s Day. How wonderful that I was working so hard at my new career that they got to hang out with a real Irish lass instead. I know your father must have dance a mighty jig when he discovered Her ancestry. She was allowed to do what she wanted during that time and she did her best to sabotage me in any way she could. I don’t hate easily, but during this time I hated a whole lot. I hated how I felt, how I couldn’t do anything, how I wasn’t respected or recognized as your wife by anyone. Those days I sat crouched on ICU bathroom floor crying desperately for an answer, for some sort of understanding to this broken puzzle made me want to run. Wondering why the nurses kept whispering “separated” and why I wasn’t privy to the same information as everyone else.

Her shenanigans of trying to turn your parents against me, worked brilliantly. She knew exactly how to play it, in between sobs recounting her morning bike ride that was supposed to be the both of you, a plan you all had with each other as personal goals. “Should I, should I take him off my membership,” she whimpered out loud. You both apparently shared a gym membership. Our membership was around the cemetery twice daily. I wanted to slap the living shit out of her. I wanted to scratch her eyes out for how she was toying with me. Even now, several years later, that hate stirs in me. Your mom, smiling at her with loving eyes and sympathy of how you couldn’t go on that bike ride with her. She did many things during your stay, things I will never forgive. Her last act was perfectly timed. She knew I was mad and she knew she just had to wait for my impulsive self to come out. It did. It is no secret I act upon my heart’s intentions constantly. I’m an emotional wave of complex degree and I really don’t care if you can figure that out or not, but you know this already. I don’t think she thought someone was on my side, but fortunately your future sister-in-law is not to be messed with. Once she was banished, I finally felt like I had a presence again…a presence alright.

Your mother cried as though her heart were pierced by the devil herself. “Why did you have to leave him!” she spat at me. It all came out. I was the villain here. I was the one who decided to go home where there was an opportunity for us to be in a better place. I was the one who wanted a family. I was the one who wanted to have matching furniture and the dinner parties with our friends. As you said, I always wanted things! Even though your mother didn’t hesitate to open the bank account for us so that we could survive in NY, I was the one who destroyed our life there. I was the one who hurt you because I wasn’t there for you. I not only left you but as far as everyone in your family thought, I was also cheating on you. The pedestal your mom put you on was far more damaging than the one I took you off of.

I knew I’d never be back in your mother’s grace again. As long as you cannot speak or explain what happened, I will be seen as the woman who broke her son. When I left to come home, your protege returned. I meant nothing. Your parents welcomed her open arms the week after your return to Richmond. I walked in, while she was holding your hand at your bedside with your father and mother. The photo I had brought of us dancing in your bedroom years before, was put by the wayside. She would soon be going to your therapy sessions with your mom while I would give up. She slept in the bed you proposed to me in and drove your parent’s car as I once did. I don’t know if you could ever know how that felt. How it felt to visit you at your parents house to find my photo in a drawer while hers adorned your walls. Where once our family trip photos on the fridge stuck, her image appeared. I wondered how they could do that to me. How you could do that to me.

Nothing will ever mend that part of me. I don’t even know how to forget all this, but what hurt me the most was the betrayal I felt from your mom. Where once I stood helping her in the kitchen and talking to her for hours, I would now be someone she would have to tolerate on our visits. She got you back though and I think that’s all she really wanted. I could never take you away from her, it’s why I gave up so easily. I didn’t want her to feel the pain of not being able to take care of you so I took my pain and swallowed it. I can’t imagine what she went through during that time, but I do know all she ever wants for you is complete happiness, no matter what the cost.