I'm sorry I look like her

[Ilooklikeher]

I'm sorry, that I look like her. I have her genes, I have her blood and I have her hairstyle.

I am not her.

I am not the mother you had when you were a child. I am not the one who preferred paperbacks and chocolates in fancy boxes with shiny ribbon bows to a small boy left crying on the doormat with his beloved dog.

I am sorry that I look like her. I am sorry that the photos of me with my children on a fancy-dress day caused a sharp intake of breath and a shock like a slip in time. It isn't 1954, I am not her. I just look like her.

I'm sorry that the time I chose to dress in vintage clothes, nails red and heels high, that I took you back there. I can see that it hurt you. It wasn't meant to. I am sorry that I look like her.

But I don't look like her now. She is 95 now, frail and lost in a hospital bed. She doesn't know where she is, or who she is. She has broken bones and a broken memory. I can see that it hurts you.

You want to be able to justify your resentment for her. How could she be so selfish towards a little boy like that? How could she send him away like that? Off on a sleeper train, so she could dance the night away through the school holidays, and off with a trunk in term time, packed up, shipped away, out of sight, out of mind. I'm sorry about that, but I am not her.

But here she is now, 95 years old and she doesn't need you, doesn't need anyone, except the strong arm of a hospital porter to keep her safe, and nurses to watch her, catch her, bathe her, keep her going, but for what?

I am not her. I am now the age she was when you were seven. My child is six. But I am not her.

I will not send my child away. I will love her and I will treasure her, as you have done with me. You have learned from her mistakes. You have shown me how to be a better parent, so I have learned from her mistakes.

I look like her, I really do, but I am not her. I'm sorry it hurts.

And she is still your Grandmother and you know you're going to lose her soon.

Your Father's memories can't make that any easier, when you knew her as someone quite different.

Grief is hard enough without having to deal with ghosts from the past and your Fathers mixed feelings.

Lots of people mellow and change as they grow older, my mum says I would have fought with my favourite Great Aunt (who DD is called after) had I known her as a very fierce spitnster school mistress, but of course, I only met the one who dotted on her 5 grandnieces and grand nethew.

very creative writing OP

I'm sure you feel for you poor Dad, some people never get over such a childhood.
My Dad had a similar childhood and never did get over it and never did forgive.
He is wrong to carry it on with you, but his pain must be hard to bare.
I bet he is of an age where he would reject any form of counselling, which is a shame I think as I'm sure it would help.
I always thought this of my Dad.
I know its hard for you, but it is your Dads problem and I suppose you have to come to terms with it or speak to him.
Have you ever told him that it is upsetting for you to see him like this? There again it maybe the only release he gets to ease his pain.
I am so sorry for both of you

It is confusing!
I think it's a lovely point to make to him that her bad parenting led to his good parenting of you.

But you know, you should not be apologising for the resemblance. It's one thing to be sorry that the resemblance upsets him, but quite another to apologise for it.

Frankly, no matter how bad a mother she was, it's a poor show from him if he is making you feel this way.

My daughter looks like her father, he's a total arsehole. I love her.