Sadness

Sadness is the overwhelming feeling I am getting more and more with my mom.  Sadness brought on by confusion...maybe.  Sadness brought on because of a lack of socializing...probably.  Sadness brought on by aging and all that comes with it...I don't know.

My heart breaks for her.  Many of the resentments I have toward my mom stem from the fact that she wasn't a classic mother-figure.  Mind you, I grew up when fairytales were still told and wished for, Mrs. Brady was on tv and I read Anne of Green Gables over and over and over.  I also grew up in a rural school district with moms who cooked and cleaned and farmed and raised and sewed and baked and worried and showed up at everything.

My mom was one of the few working moms - something I was always proud of.  My mom was independent.  She didn't hover.  She trusted me to make my own decisions (something that worked out better for her than it did for me, as it turns out!).  But she was always around, a part of my life. 

Until my daddy died.  Suddenly, she wasn't that interested in me or being a family.  Years later I learned that she was out trying to find a new husband.  Who knew?  I assumed she was grieving.  I could understand that.  And I was young and bullish and an expert at pretending I was stronger than steel, so I didn't let it bother me.  And when I did let it bother me, I ignored it until something distracted me enough that it didn't bother me anymore.

Years passed and I continued to force my mom to be a part of my life.  She never outwardly complained about it, but I honestly believe that if I hadn't called her every Sunday and made a point to go home every year, I may have lost touch with her.  Cards at Christmas and birthdays and the occasional call to share a special story or ask a question.  I couldn't let that happen.  I needed her.  I needed to be a part of a family.  When Daddy was alive, I had no doubt that I was loved beyond measure and cherished...how many people ever get to be cherished?  I was used to it.  I needed it.  So I kept hold of my mom and our relationship like a bulldog. 

I always made it "funny" - "ironic"  - "sarcastic".  That's how I deal with difficult situations that could show my weakness.  My need for people.  My desperate desire for family.  I can do funny with the best of them.  I love the power of funny.  And I don't want to sound desperate about it - funny would always cheer me up!  It puts life in perspective.  It reminds me that I choose how I feel/react/deal with all situations.  It made things not hurt so badly.

Anyway, mom allowed me to stay in her life - as long as I did all the leg work.  We never grew closer as some families due after a loss, but because she had always been a little distant - I don't think we grew apart either.  And it never seemed weird until I became a mother. 

I gave birth to my son and my heart exploded with love.  To this day, he takes my breath away.  I gave birth to my daughter and it doubled.  I can't explain how much I need them in my days, minutes, seconds.  I love them the way I am guessing my Daddy loved me.  When they went back to school after Christmas break this year, I felt like part of me was missing for the first couple of days.  I just love being with them.

Maybe some people are born to be parents.  And some are not.  Mom was not.  We've joked about it.  I never thought it was that funny, but I went along because I was a strong woman who didn't need anyone...HA!

But now, mom has no one.  She has me, but she doesn't want me.  She wants a man.  A husband.  A friend her own age.  But not a daughter.  A servant perhaps.  But not me.  She finds no comfort in me as her daughter.  She knows somewhere in her mind that I am the one who cares for her and keeps her safe.  But that annoys her - she isn't supposed to need anyone.  She is independent.  WAS.  She was independent.  And now she is not.  This cruel disease has robbed her of the one thing she valued above all else...independence. 

So now she is sad.  She never thought this would happen to her.  She never thought long-term.  She assumed she would always be able to live independently.  To drive.  To shop.  To keep house.  To socialize.  Instead she has trouble remembering how to dress herself and what day it is.  My heart is breaking for her.  And for me sometimes.