Laura, The Pen Pusher's Weblog

Today is Sunday, the day I usually go to my mother’s house for a few hours, to do some of the things she isn’t able to do any more and just to visit. My brother and I have power of attorney and I take care of her bills and bank account. My brother defers to my judgment in all things, not because I’m any more intelligent than he is but because he doesn’t want to be bothered. Because of that, I am more informed about what’s going on in my mother’s life in general.

Mom will be 80 years old in another month and with the years comes infirmity and progressively diminishing memory capacity. For the most part, I don’t mind visiting her and I don’t mind doing things for her when I’m able. Considering I’m almost 60 years old, there are a number of things I simply can’t do any more. There are issues that get under my skin however, no matter how hard I try not to let them. Growing up, my mother was extremely neglectful and verbally abusive and on occasion, was physically abusive as well. I have a sister who lives out of state, but even if she lived nearby, Mother  gave her up as a baby and she’s already taken care of the loving adoptive parents with whom she was placed. My brother lives about an hour’s drive away, but because of our upbringing, he refuses to do much of anything for Mom, protesting that this is “the relationship she forged.” I don’t think he’s never managed to get beyond the hurt she caused for him.

As for me, my brother insists it’s Mom’s guilt trips that makes me feel as though I have to be there for her. Admittedly, she does do the guilt trip thing and while I’ve gotten beyond most of it, I do allow her to manipulate to a degree (it’s easier than arguing about it). I also believe strongly in karma – not so much concerning situations that cross our path, but in our reactions to those situations. Sometimes I think my mother IS my karma and how I react to her needs and her demands (and she IS demanding) will determine where I end up on the path in my next lifetime. I’ve been a practicing Buddhist for over 15 years; meditation and chanting have gotten me through some of the worst times and they will get me beyond the issues with my mother. She was only a portion of my dysfunctionality – small potatoes compared to the rest of it.

Well, I didn’t go to my mother’s house today. It’s been snowing since the early hours and it’s extremely cold outside. I spent Friday and Saturday working around the house, cleaning a horrific mess after an overflow in the kitchen sink and the subsequent snaking by the maintenance personnel. I’ve also been working every chance to get my house in order before my son comes home for the holiday. With the weather and the increased activity (bending, lifting, twisting, etc.) both arthritis and plain old muscle soreness have been kicking my butt! I’ve been in a fair amount of discomfort today – pain – and with the cold, wet outside, trust me, old “Arthur” was having a good time with these old rickety joints!

My mother had nothing pressing to be done this week. She doesn’t go out at all – not because there aren’t things for her to enjoy and get involved in, but because she won’t take the steps to become involved. She’d rather sit and watch television all day and night. She has an electric scooter but won’t ride it the 20 or so feet across the street to get her mail; it’s easier to wait for my arrival and she’ll ask me to get it. She has a few friends but her constant complaints and incessant demands – she won’t call them, they must call her – have driven most of them away.

So, in her mind, I’m the nurse, housekeeper, laundress, accountant, personal shopper and errand boy, chief cook and bottle washer. And the more time I give, the more she demands and expects. She’s also been known to become “ill” when she doesn’t get her wishes granted. Her most recent trick has been to not answer either her landline or her cell phone. In a two-week period, she did that three times and each time I drove to her house to confirm she’s okay only to find her sitting in her recliner, watching television with both the landline and cell phone sitting on the table immediately next to her. I told her the last time it happened that I would be calling the police to check on her before getting into the car. She’s answered her phone every time since then.

And the guilt thing does play a part. I’ve learned over the years that rather than answering or responding to her “pity poor me” remarks, if I let her ramble, eventually she realizes she won’t get a rise out of me and finally lets it go. I used to be terribly hurt by her sometimes hateful, inconsiderate remarks. That doesn’t happen as frequently – getting my feelings hurt that is; the remarks can be just as biting, sarcastic and mean as ever. If she gets angry with me over some situation she’s actually caused, she’ll even throw things at me. I still get stung on rare occasions; the fact that she never has been and never will be the winner of any “Mother of the Year” award should be a reminder to me that there’s no sense in my expecting any changes this late in her life or mine.

So today I told her I would not be by and her conversation was no different. Do I feel badly about it? No. In fact, I’ve been relaxing these old bones, sipping an eggnog and brandy in front of the fireplace, listening to classical music, reading a good book  and enjoying every moment of my solitude. I do love my mother in my own dysfunctional sort of way. And while it’s taken years for me to LEARN, I’ve begun to love myself even more.