I have a very undefinable relationship with my mother. For me, it is difficult. I have never asked her how she feels, as she would answer me as any mother would, unconditional love, of course!
The years, and life, have made my mother a very bitter woman. She is passive aggressive, and a lot of the time, aggressive-aggressive. She has no idea how she sounds, and most of the time can’t remember what she has said as it is fueled by bourbon.
She has had two major surgeries in the past, the last one was an operation to remove a benign tumor from her brain. At times I think the surgeon used a hand mixer when he went into her skull as she seems to be getting crazier as time goes on. Then there are glimpses of cleverness, so I am thinking she is “crazy like a fox”.
Over the years, I have looked at my relationship with my mother with my wine goggles on.
I have always recognized that it is not a typical mother-daughter arrangement. It may have been at one time, but it isn’t now.
The dysfunction of this relationship became very clear to me as I took my first stab at sobriety last summer.
I was asked to go to Massachusetts and pack all of her worldly goods to move to Virginia. I had 4 days to get it done. I had 20 days of sobriety going in. My daughter and I spent 4 days in her dusty, smoky condominium packing up 30 years worth of living. It was a tenuous situation. She was scared, naturally, but unhelpful beyond measure.
Me: Mom, you have 4 butter dishes, do you need them all to go?
Mom: Well, one I have for the refrigerator, and one I keep on the counter and then I need the others for when those get dirty. (Along with 10 more minutes of babble, which I stopped listening to after it was clear that 4 butter dishes were what one should have in reserve.)
Me: (Huge eye roll) WHATEVER…they will go, dripping with sarcasm, laced with you are crazy, woman.
Every afternoon ended with the same question from her, “Did you get any wine? Sit down and let’s have a drink.”
I didn’t tell her about my bad blood tests, I just told her I had too much to do in too short an amount of time to stop and have a drink.
We got it done. We actually got it done a day early.
My brother rode in on his white stallion and loaded her up, and they moved to Beverly, Hills that is…I mean Virginia, and he drove a U-haul.
Then the shit hit the fan. She started to bad mouth me. I was a bitch, I unpacked all her little tiny boxes and DUMPED them into a big box, I threw away all her treasures, and what I didn’t throw out, I sold at a yard sale, or gave to the junk man. (Who, by the way, wouldn’t even TAKE all of her stuff, it was TOO junky for him.)
Then I drank. I had many reasons to drink. I finished the job! I did it in the allotted time! I didn’t kill my mother! I took bushels of shit and didn’t smack anyone until their teeth bled!
I drank for another 3 months. I drank because of….name it, I drank at it.
Now, I have been sober for 215 days.
I am beginning the 4th step.
Resentments. Guess who is at the top of the list? That is right, my mother.
I put her name at the top of the page, and I am astounded at the feelings that flood into my brain and body. I am so overwhelmed that I don’t know where to start. I have been so damaged by this relationship that my eyes are filling with tears just typing this.
All I ever wanted was a “normal” relationship with her. Not the one I got, not the one filled with jealousy, hostility, and aggression.
I know she has been broken by life, but I can’t reconcile the fact that she would have been better off if she had only given birth to boys, as they are her preference.
I have A LOT of work to do.