today is your birthday
I hung up on you last Tuesday. I called you because I needed you to listen, to hear me. I didn’t need you to tell me anything other than the fact that you were there for me. I needed you to put down your scrub brush and to give me your full attention. I needed my mommy when I called. Instead, I got my mother, a rushed, somewhat bitter woman — a woman who couldn’t put her scrub brush down to fully listen to what her oldest daughter was saying through tears and an angry voice.
I kept telling you that I was hurting, and that I just needed you to listen. I kept telling you to stop preaching at me — that I knew everything you said was true but that right then, it didn’t matter. I wanted you to ask me to coffee or to lunch. I wanted you to drop what you were doing and come to my rescue like my best friend does or like Nick does or like half of the people I know would. You let me down, and I hung up on you. I haven’t talked to you since.
Today is your 51st birthday. I left you a voicemail. I’m not sure I can muster the courage to do much more. Every time I try to get close to you, you put up another wall or refuse to stop doing another task that you could continue in a minute. You’re needy and broken, but don’t you see that we all are.