I really should be reading for my preliminary exams, which are only six weeks away and for which I have a huge virtual stack of readings to get through, but I need to take a few minutes to write about the state of things with my mother.
My last post was positive and it felt great to write. But then I heard from my mother. The real, flesh and blood mother who is related to the mother who did great things from time to time, but who now feels like more of a threat to my health than anything else.
I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago and I was recounting my correspondence with my mother and how my mother is doing and I stopped and said "There is that violin on my shoulder again...playing away!" I don't want to be a martyr here, but sometimes even in stating facts I feel the violin starting up...woe is me...
This is not my usual modus operandi, at least, I don't think it is, yet I continually struggle with how to reconcile this part of my life in any other way. When I wasn't communicating with her I was beginning to be able to really honor her and focus on those positive memories. I was finding a way that felt good and true and positive and right.
And then she emailed.
And the content of the correspondence was not cataclysmic, just more of the same reality distortion and blaming and roping me in that I am pretty much used to, but it broke the spell of my happy place and now I can't find it anywhere.
Gee, thanks for writing.
She wants help, she wants to talk on the phone, she wants connection, she wants...wants...wants...
Some of this I get. Some of this I understand and I understand her set of needs are no where near "normal" or expected for a 57 year old mother. But what does normal mean anyway? By what standards am I judging her? Does it mean married? Homeowner? Near retirement? Hosting Thanksgiving dinner? I myself actively try to undo these and other normative beliefs I find bouncing around in my head or in our family conversation at home, and yet I seem to compare her to these idealized images of "mother", and of course, she does not fare well in the comparison. And that only gives the little violinist on my shoulder more to go on anyway.
So I try to free her and myself from these comparisons. And I am left with this woman who is my mother, who is attempting to connect with me and is being overrun by her mental illness. Sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her, sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her disease directly and most of the time it is somewhere in the middle and in every instant I am unsure whether her response will be sweet or full of vitriol.
I am sad for her and there is a large part of me that would love to offer her emotional, familial support while she works her way back from homelessness, but there is the other part of me that says she is an endless pit who will take everything I have. She never stops wanting...once you give a little, there is always more to take and besides, I have kids to think about.
The hardest part, I believe, is that her illness causes her to not be able to see her illness. So, not only can we not talk about it to any successful end, but when I don't see things the way she sees them she can't understand me. And as time goes on and I am further and further away from seeing things through the lens of her distorted reality, she says she doesn't know me and I have to say that I think she is right.
And other than a blood bond and shared history, I'm not sure what there is left for us. She says having a connection with me will help her during this difficult time. Perhaps, but is this just about what is good for her? No. I don't think so.
My normative beliefs about the ideal daughter tell me that she certainly would be there for her, but fair is fair and we've stated she is no ideal mother and, well, I am no ideal daughter. I am trying to be okay with that and figure out what I want to do here with this real request from a real flesh and blood person.
