I had no idea you felt that way, Didn't know what you believed, Didn't know the things you thought I'd done Or how you'd come to see me. I thought that we were building something, Helping shared dreams become a life, While somewhere underneath it all You apparently saw me otherwise. The giving wasn't something new— We'd helped for years before. But in those final eighteen months, We gave you so much more. “Here's the bill.” “Here's who to pay.” And I would take care of the rest, Because I thought I was helping family. And I wanted you to have the very best. I know exactly why I gave. That choice was mine to make. I loved you and believed in you— I gave for love's own sake. But if you felt that way about me, Then how could you take it? If I wasn't good enough for you, Why did my money always make it? If I couldn't be trusted, If you thought my character was fake, Then month after month, Bill after bill— Why was my money good enough to take? A thousand here, ten thousand there, One month it was twenty-five K you'd need. We never questioned your judgement Never saw your requests as greed. Laser, sandblaster, the property you had chosen, Then your dream shop came into view, And every time another payment came, I gladly followed through. Not buying love. Not buying loyalty. Not keeping any score. I thought I was investing In people I cared for. Your dad kept working years beyond When he'd have gladly called it done, Keeping things together longer So your dreams could still become. The overhead kept costing us, And still we saw things through. So looking back, I have to wonder: Did you think of me this way then too? If you felt that way about me, Was it honorable to take? Why keep sending me the invoices If the love you expressed was fake? Why was everything about me wrong— Except the money you could take? Because now I hear I spoke with cruelty About the mother that you loved. I hear I treated your Dad so poorly, It seems nothing I did was ever enough. That I'd twisted words and caused you pain, That there was something wrong in me— Were those feelings already there While you kept accepting willingly? When did you start believing it? Before those final eighteen months, Or somewhere in between? Because that's when so much of what we had Was poured into your dreams. Were these feelings already there, Beneath what I could see? Were you accepting all I gave While feeling hostility toward me? If you already felt that way As I suspect you did How could you with good conscience Keep taking all that I could give? Why didn't somebody simply say, “Stop. We can't keep taking from this woman While believing what we do. We can't keep sending her the bills If we believe these things are true.” If you questioned my integrity, If you didn't think I was someone you could trust, Why work together on a project You already think will be a bust? If you thought our foundation was already broken, Why keep building on it still? Why keep letting us fund your future, Every payment, every bill? If you thought I was hurting you, That I wasn't family, Why keep building together? If you felt that way about me, Why did you keep taking too? If I wasn't good enough to love, Why was my money good enough for you? If I wasn't good enough to be family, Good enough to hear the truth, How was I somehow good enough To keep funding dreams for you? I won't rewrite why I gave it to you. I gave because I loved you. I know why. That part has never changed. The question isn't Why I gave. The question is— If you already felt that way about me... How could you in good conscience keep taking my money? Month after month. Bill after bill. Why was everything about me wrong... Except the money you could take?
