Just another day

February seems to be dragging on and I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of a few sprouts of tulips, daffodils, or the many hyacinth bulbs I planted last year. Mom has survived another day, although I don't know how. I struggle with feelings of wanting to love her for the frail, frightened, tearful old woman she is now, and yet I can't let my guard down with her. Years and years of disappointment, hurt, guilt, shame and abuse she spewed upon me make me on guard. I've learned that if you show the slightest sign of weakness or emotion it is akin to a wild animal showing its neck, and they go for the jugular as if I were her prey. She may be frail, but her words can resonate in me like I've been beaten by an army. An army of crazy Hungarians! And so the dysfunction continues - words and feelings going unsaid. She wants my forgiveness, I can feel it, and I want a sincere apology, a feeling of love from a mother that I know she is incapable of. And so the elephant in the room is ignored, and I listen to her complaints, make her as comfortable as possible, and bring her more wine.

I can remember being a small child, being sent up to Franks Party Supply on Smithville Road - given a quarter to buy a treat for myself, and she would have called ahead and they would give me two or three bottles of wine to carry home to her. I would walk ever slower and slower, knowing that when I got home, she would drink it and the next couple of days were going to be "her bad days". The feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense of dread... I still feel that sense of dread as I drive to Kettering to see her. I have to force myself to visit my dying mother - a sense of obligation. I can't wait to get out of there, then feel guilty for feeling like that, then I feel guilty for feeling guilty. Oh the bizarre nature of relationships between mother and daughter, parent and child, crazy Hungarian and Crazy Hungarian child!

Thanks for letting me vent!