Mumzie
My tearfest seems to be winding down today. The reason: a visit from my dear Aunt Flo. Looks like part of what I was experiencing was horrible PMS. I didn’t think my period would come on so soon after my failed IVF cycle, but who the heck knows anymore. My period does whatever it wants to, these days.
So lets not spend any more time tonight on sadness. I want to talk about my Mumzie. You may not know who I’m talking about since my usual term for her is The Evil One. But she was so good during this last visit that I must rename her.
I blew off a lot of the SAM meeting and stayed home with mom last week. Every time I see her she looks more and more frail. It is sometimes hard to remember that she was the ever-so-scary woman who would just as soon smack me as look at me. She’s so thin and fragile.
We had a bunch of deep talks…talks that started out pretty tame but took on profound significance for both of us. One night we were in her room and I was joking about how my therapy group thought that I should have stayed in the conference hotel instead of staying with her.
“What do they think I am?” she questioned. “Am I that bad?”
“Well you do remember Christmas…” I started.
“You mean about saying you were fat when you walked in? I apologized for that. It was wrong of me.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I explained. “Remember the other thing you said. The one that triggered a lot of hurt for me?”
“No, what did I say?”
“You got upset and said I was a know-it-all and that everyone felt this way. Then you said ‘If you know everything, then why isn’t your life perfect?’ That comment really hurt me a lot considering everything I’ve been going through.”
“I said that?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah, and then when I started crying, you told me to get out of your face if I was going to cry. You didn’t want to see my tears.”
“I don’t remember saying any of that, but it sounds like something I’d say,” she admitted.
“I don’t think I know everything and my life is a far cry from perfect.”
“But you’re always telling everyone what they should do,” she protested.
“No I don’t. I don’t tell Joe or Scott what they should do. I certainly don’t suggest actions to Jade. Not Marsha either.”
“Just me?” she asked. “Why are you always telling me what I should do? Why only me?”
“Maybe because I love you best…” I said simply.
She looked back toward me with incredulity, then looked away. She looked back at me again, at a loss for words. She then looked away once more and sat in stunned silence. Then she changed the subject. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she stated as she made her exit.
The next day we again found ourselves having another talk. This time it was about Mason, my wanting a baby, and my firing. She asked me for the 45th time (because she can never seem to remember) whether I knew about Mason’s problems when I married him. I launched into my millionth explanation of how I didn’t realize everything beforehand and didn’t know how deep his issues went, et cetera.
She listened quietly and then said,”I just really want you to be happy. You did everything a parent could ask of a child: you excelled in school, became a success in your career, and made me so very proud. You deserve to be happy. I wish I could give that to you. I just want to see you happy.”
I sat on the edge of her bed feeling a golf ball sized lump welling in my throat. To hear such words from my mother. I was seized up inside. I tried to do what I’m told in group, to let the loving words in without finding a way to deflect them. I started to feel lightheaded. My mother really loves me. She doesn’t think I am the biggest disappointment in the world. Tears started to flow. We let the words float in the silence between us.
Who knows how much longer my mom has on this Earth. But at least we have managed after years of pain, hurt, and estrangement to share our love for each other before we left this mortal coil. How grand is that?
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