And that's what I'm about to do right now, so I decided to blog about it instead. I'd forgotten that my childhood wasn't exactly a normal one. I don't think my mother ever really loved me...or my brother or sisters. She moved away from her kids when she got her second divorce. My brother went with his dad, my sister went to live with her uncle, and I went to live with my grandparents. My father was killed in the war when I was just a baby. So...I remember seeing my mom occasionally. A visit once or twice a year. But after she got remarried four years later, she came to get me. I spent a lot of time alone, reading, playing outdoors...a loner. I began spinning stories in my head back then. Books were my escape. I moved away from home when I was seventeen and only went back for a visit once a year.
For some reason, my mother has always seemed to resent me. She never said she loved me and nothing I ever did was good enough. I was second rate to my friends, my cousins, everyone. She says with a vengeance that she hated her own mother. Over the years I heard nothing but horrible stories about how her mother hated her. So, when my grandmother loved me and gave me things, my mother resented me even more. I remember her screaming and pulling my hair so hard that it came out in her hands. She would beat me with her fists on my back.
I suppose she felt that I had taken the love from my grandmother that she should have had. At least, that's my psychological take on it.
Then came the time when my mother could no longer keep her home. She had spent all her money, she was alone, and the doctors told her that due to her heart condition she shouldn't be alone. I've always told her she had a home with me and my husband any time she needed it. Finally, in January of this year, she said she'd made up her mind and she would come to live with us. Over the next few months, we remodeled and did everything we could to make our home more comfortable for her. But, she sounded like her life was coming to an end as the date drew closer.
Now she's here and she seems to be content. She smiles more. She has people to talk to, she loves the cats, but...she resents the fact that she has to live with me. She had to leave her home and a lot of her possessions behind. And, I know how hard that must have been. I try not to take it personally when she reminds me in a not so nice way that something she had was left behind. Before she moved here, she told me she really didn't want to move, and I told her it wasn't too late. Her response was a not so nicely toned, "Well, what do you expect me to do? I don't have any choice!" **sigh**
I really thought it would get better, and I suppose it has for her. But now I've reverted back to childhood emotions. My mother doesn't really like me. I can't please her. I try. Maybe I try too hard.
This is Father's Day. I told my hubby he could have anything he wanted for dinner. He chose to go to Bob Evans. At five, I told Mom that we were going out to Bob Evans for dinner and asked if she felt like going along. She said, "Yes." She said she'd been resting in the chair all day and felt fine. So I told her we would leave around six.
All was well, until we reached Bob Evans and she got out of the car and was walking to the door. Suddenly, she turned to me and said, "The next time it's hot like this, don't ask me to go out! I can't take this heat!"
I said, "Mom, you said you wanted to come."
She: "I know. But when it's hot outside, I say indoors. When I was in my own home, if I stuck my head out and it was hot, I went back inside and stayed there."
So, I asked if she wanted me to take her back home.
Then, as we walked up to the hostess, mom looked at me and said, "Jessie used to go places without me. I didn't have to go with her all the time."
So what do I do? Sometimes I feel like I should just stay in my office downstairs and out of her way.
Nothing I do is right. I'm an adult now. Why does it still hurt me so much?