I'm back to flesh out more of what I was feeling last night. I feel horrible for yelling at my mother. My outburst was not about her at all, but it was about me and how I feel unappreciated, disrespected and as always, exhausted beyond what should be acceptable as normal.
Going back over last night is not really the point because what I said to her I meant. Every single word of it, and it wouldn't matter if I had whispered it or if I said it with a fake Southern grin while pouring tea. I meant it. I will abandon her to be cared for by others if she isn't more careful with what she says to me or to my child.
And that is the crux of where all of this is--in the family support system that barely exists.
My father is at home with her all day because he is now retired, and while I know that he does the best he can, he also breaks the hell out of dodge whenever the opportunity arises. He has hired help in the form of the home health aide so that he can go to church twice a week. And while she is not the best that money can buy, she does a lot more than babysit despite what my brother thinks. He, who lives there and is also at home all day with his toddler daughter and comes upstairs to oversee and nitpick. The other brother is MIA except on weekends when he blesses everyone with his presence. Other family, well... Thus whenever there is a need for assistance, I am the one who gets called.
Mind you, I had a baby a year ago. Weeks after I had my baby, I started back assisting with my mother. I have left my child behind for hours to help with my mother. I have packed up my child and gone over to help.
Before I accuse anyone of not doing enough for her, I will admit that I do not do enough for her either. I definitely put my daughter first, and the price of that choice is that my mother often spends her days in front of the television. To offset this, I have invested in plenty of home-based enrichment projects that have gone untouched. I have investigated all kinds of outside activities, but she still rarely leaves the house. Since I don't live there, I keep my mouth shut, but whenever I can, I try to engage her in something or at least take her out of the house.
Yesterday was typical. I drove across town to take my mother to the hair stylist who lives ten minutes from her house while my Dad was on a conference call. I was running behind by an hour, but thankfully her stylist was understanding. I paid him with practically all the cash in my wallet; luckily, it was from her account because I needed cash to pay for her dry cleaning (another bag of which is still in my trunk). I was running late because I had to pack the car with all of the new stuff I had been buying for her--clothes, towels, an outfit for Easter. On Sunday, I will get her ready for church.
I...I...I...I could go on. And that is my point. I do a lot for my mother, so when things fall apart I lose it.
I know she never means what she says, and I could just limit her contact with the Babe (which is what the other siblings do with their children). I could limit my contact with her. I could just decide to live my life, and just fit her in whenever. But I would never forgive myself.
I already feel guilty about backing away while I was pregnant. I had to because she became physically difficult to manage and sometimes was combative. It stressed me to deal with her and when it became clear that she was defiantly uncooperative, I had to make a choice. I do not regret that choice, but I resent having to make it.
AARGGHHH. I can't win.
In all of the chaos of a squirmy, restless child and a cranky mother, I did manage to hear the message of the sermon last night. Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane and the disciples had fallen asleep. He was distressed by the knowledge of what was to come, and he asked God to take away the burden. But then he accepted his fate, and the message was that God's grace comes to help us face certain obstacles. Very much tailor-made for me.
My family are like the disciples--asleep on the job. Maybe they aren't, but it sure feels like it. The pastor referred to Jesus' need for their presence, and quite honestly, that is what I need. I need to feel their support in some tangible way. I need to know that someone is watching my back. Maybe no one can do what I do, but at least someone can stay awake long enough to take notice!
This morning after going to bed feeling terrible and waking up feeling just overcome and defeated, I am seeking grace. This entire situation feels like a horrible nightmare that has swallowed up so much of my hope, so many of my dreams, and just everything. But this is my cup and if no one else can drink its bitter content, then I just need the grace to swallow it myself.
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