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April 27, 2025 – A Sunday.
GOOD LORD, NOT ANOTHER MOM STORY. Yep. This one is about the day I went to the movies with Mom. Well, ALMOST went. FROM MY 2008 CALENDAR: "Oh boy, what a day. And yes, it's another MOM incident." Started on the 29th of November, after Thanksgiving – an event I skipped out of self-preservation. I had asked Mom if she would like to see me tomorrow. She says "I don't know." We hadn't seen each other in 10-days or so. This wasn't unusual. I typically called her - a lot. She would call me occasionally. But actual face-to-face was not so much. "I call her up this morning around 10:30 and we have a nice chat. We agree to see a movie in her town at 1:30, which means I'm driving to her, which is fine. [Mom is 75. My voice trails off to yet another 'story', the one where I "tried" to throw her a 75th birthday party and her golf buddy refused to help me and basically Vetoed and thwarted my ideas, so no party.] I spent the rest of my morning doing French lessons, I think on Rosetta Stone, so around noon I called her to tell her I had reached Level Two. Brag on myself a bit, and get some applause from my Mommie. It's what you do. Told her I'd be on my way soon. Noon: Everything was fine. Somehow she managed to work up a lather between our noon conversation and when I arrived to pick her up, which was just after 1:00; so 1-hour give or take. I come into her house and now she tells me that she's invited Aunt to come to the movies with us, which makes the ten minutes it would of taken us to get to the theater a 15-minute plus endeavor since Aunt moves slower than molasses. I have no choice than to roll with it. I go to take a pee in the half-bath down past the kitchen and she starts in on me: "Why can't you be on time?" (Well, I was 'on time' for driving US to the movies.) I tell her that I can't do anything about the person driving ahead of me. Am I supposed to pass on a two-lane country road and risk being injured? I think she would advise against that. So calmly and lightheartedly I say, "When the world is perfect, let me know." She continues to goes on and On and ON some more. I calmly say, "Mom, would you please drop it?" It's like she gets on a machine gun, rapid-fire, tirade of beratement. WHY? I don't know why. She doesn't know why. It's just there. So we get in the car – her car – and I'm driving through the subdivision – we're not even to the main road yet and she starts in on me again. "YOU'RE DRIVING TOO FAST!" I'm going 40 in a 35 – in a subdivision – with zero other cars around. Then she starts to get mean with the name calling. "You don't appreciate anything I do." "I give and I give and you treat me like THIS!" "I wish you would GROW UP!" Now, Nancy has to enter THERAPIST MODE - with myself. WHY is she doing this? Is it because she's an insane narcissist? Is it because we now might not arrive at the movie theater early enough so she can see before the lights go down - because SHE invited Aunt, which has slowed everything down, and NOT because I got stuck behind a tractor? WHY??? It's obviously a control thing. Is she spinning out of control because she feels out of control??? [THIS is how I've 'earned' my 14 PhDs.] Because we're going to the movies, I get to be screamed at, belittled, name called. Then a light went off in my head. You know what? I've had enough of this shit. I tell her, "You know what, Mom, I WILL 'grow up'. WE ARE NOT GOING TO THE MOVIES!" I am the one driving. I don't have to put up with this. I am in control! *I* went out of MY way to BE with YOU today. To do something YOU wanted to do. JUST TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU – MY MOTHER. And THIS is how YOU treat ME??? No. I had already been to a zillion therapists and they all say the same thing: "You have to have BOUNDARIES." "You just have to tell your mother, 'this is my boundary line and when you cross it, there will be consequences'." [O.M.G. I can't even write such a ridiculous sentence without laughing. HAVE YOU MET MY MOTHER? Apparently, NOT. What a fucking joke this is. How many years of school did you do for this nugget of wisdom?]. So here we are - still in her car on route to Aunt's house, which is minutes from Mom's. I had my brilliant boundary line set and what does Mom do? She went a full 180. Full Jekyll and Hyde. Her personality and voice changed COMPLETELY. For the first time in my entire life , she sounded like a little girl pleading with her parents. "Ok. I'll quit. Oh please, I'll be good. Please let's go to the movies." I can still hear her sing-song happy tone of voice in that one sentence. Where did the bitterness go? For a split second I thought, "Hmm. Were the therapists RIGHT? You simply create a boundary line and they simply comply. How Easy." Of course not. But she didn't quit. She kept on LYING about how she thinks I am. So I continued past Aunt's street and I told her to call Aunt and tell her we're not going. The split-second it came out of my mouth I knew it was a mistake. *I* needed to tell Aunt, or else Mom would do what she always did. And unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. I was driving and couldn't wrestle the phone from her, so she calls her sister and says (in yet another voice; this one calm and adult): "We aren't going to the movies. You know how NANCY is – she THREW HERSELF SUCH A FIT ... " Mom has everyone convinced I'm a demon – and they believe her full-heartedly. Does she ever instigate it? "noooo" It's all Nancy and her temper and her fits. Yeah, like asking your mother to spend some time on a Sunday with you. How awful. Bad Nancy. Are we done yet? Of course not. We get back to her house. No stopping by Aunt's. No movie. Nancy is an ADULT and we are not going to the movies. YOU told me to 'grow up' so baby this is what grown up looks like. I don't take your shit anymore! (Or at least TRY.) She goes into her home as I approach my car for the relief of leaving once again. And for one last dramatic effect she yells out: "WHEN I'M DEAD I HOPE YOU REALIZE HOW YOU'VE TREATED ME!!!!!!!". 'And Scene'. THAT'S what I'm talking about. THAT is what has taken me to dozens of therapists looking for answers. What 'ism' is this? A life never spent in self-reflection? Never healing from her past hurts? What the hell causes a person to act like this? Is it 'bi-polar'; when your entire demeanor changes within the hour? WHAT? This has been the mystery of my life: what the fuck is wrong with you, Mommie? If it had a definition, maybe I could understand it better. It's the same thing that reappears over and over and over again in this Encyclopedia I have on her. It's what happened at the Arboretum. It's on repeat. ... A pretty Sunday ... I want to spend some time with my Mom ... you have to jump through hoops just to get an accord ... then you are berated and belittled to oblivion ... WHY? ... For what PURPOSE???? ... It's EXHAUSTING. As long as she gets her way 110%, Nancy the slave can come over to be beat up – emotionally beat up. It would be easier if she would just hit me. Those bruises heal. "When I'm dead, I hope you realize how you've treated me." No Mom, now that you ARE dead, I realize how YOU treated ME. Like shit. But make sure you put a pretty gift on my bed instead of EVER saying you're SORRY. Punish me for wanting to be nice to you. Repeat. Infinitely. But she still gets a Christmas wreath on her grave, even though it causes her daughter to develop shingles from the stress of seeing her dead mother's grave every year. The therapist would say 'stop putting wreaths on the graves. Set a boundary'. Aren't they funny. # # # And, as I write this, reliving it yet again, and again, a thought comes to me: WHERE is the "family" to show me support? That was part of the problem. This family I showed support to NEVER ONCE in their lives showed me one split-second of support. They always took her side. Never allowing me my day in court. Never once helping me. They COULDN'T take my side, even when I was not in the wrong. They had to take her side no matter what - why? - because they wanted their checks to clear. ~N.
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It's ten-years, well more than 10-years since her last breath and still she's in my mind, and in my dreams – literally.
I make a cup of coffee and I am reminded of some deflationary comment she made. Here's the story, as I like to repeat stories (apparently). RIP – where and when and HOW??? I don't exactly remember the year, but it was before 2014 – or possibly the beginning of it (the worst year in my life to date). I was in the car with my Mom and her sister, Aunt Jo (also deceased now). They were chatting away as they always have – completely eliminating me from their conversations. So I sat in the back of the car (Mom was driving) wondering what I could chip-in to the/their conversation, when I remembered ONE thing that was new and 'exciting' in my life: a NEW coffee! Now, this sounds menial, and it is, but that is the point. There IS NOTHING in my life and being introduced to something new and exotic WAS a big deal to my mundane existence. It all started on New Year's Day. My 'best' friend, Eric invited me to come to Louisville to spend the day with him and his (parents, brother, friends) [I 'quote' best because later in life he tells me he "doesn't believe in best friends" - shocking since that's what I thought we were! Oh well.] Eric is very good at finding unique restaurants and introducing me to new cuisines. Today it's Vietnamese. I'd never been to a Vietnamese restaurant, and so the adventure begins! They bring out a coffee for his dad. "Hmm. Interesting. I've never seen a coffee pot like this one before. Can I have a sip?" IT'S DELICIOUS. Sweet, warm, rich ... I HAVE TO HAVE THIS. I asked the waitress if she could write it down for me knowing I'd never be able to spell it and therefore never be able to hunt it down. "Trung Nguyen". See? My hunt begins. First it's the Asian markets of Louisville. Then it's the internet. Lucky me, I find a site that literally sells ONLY Vietnamese coffee. I order exactly what the lady wrote down for me. Culi Robusta #1. Now my mornings are delicious, and exotic and EXCITING!!! NOW I have something to contribute to my Mom and Aunt's conversation! So I interject --- "I have something EXCITING to share ... I found a NEW coffee!!! (you know they didn't ASK me, 'and what about you, Nancy?' - 'cause they DIDN'T.) My balloon is now fully inflated! Yippee. I can share my new discovery and the work I put into getting this exotic flavor into my daily life! Mom's response? Was it "Wow, that sounds delicious, would you make me some?" [INSERT BOISTEROUS LAUGHTER OF SARCASM HERE] Of course not. She said in her most dead voice way: "All coffee tastes the same." End of sentence. End of discussion. No after questions. No inquiry. Just get the needle out and punch the air out of Nancy's balloon. Deflation complete. It wasn't even, "All coffee tastes the same – TO ME." Just a blanket statement covering ALL coffee EVERYWHERE. Nothing more to add. Conversation finished. Fast forward over a decade later, I'm still drinking my exotic coffee. In Mom's cup. And every day when I make a pot, I think of her --- and her deflationary comment. Sad. |
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