When my father first moved out, my mother printed out inspirational quotes and taped them to the cupboard doors so she would see them when she went for a bowl of cereal or a cup of tea. I thought it was ridiculous, and her best friend and our neighbor, Karen, thought the same. Mom took to her bed a lot, and most days I didn't know what to say to her. I knew enough to just be in the same room with her and keep her company.

I hardly saw my father because he worked late and on saturdays, but now I only see him once in awhile for dinner or my sister's basketball games. He seems more like an uncle to me since he separated from Mom, the kind of relative that you aren't close with anymore because you've grown up and apart from them, and you don't know what to say.

 

I'm tired of being the go-between, living between a house and an apartment that neither of them can afford to keep. I'll always hear both sides of the story, being the oldest daughter and the mediator, but their excuses, exaggerations and reasons will never add up.