I\'m Summer, a mouthy, sarcastic bitch. I\'m passionate about natural birth, long term breastfeeding, and living naturally. I curse too much, love tattoos, and will some day be crushed to death by my book collection. I homeschool, dream of gardening, and swing to the left. 
Mother
At 5 AM this morning my mom was on her way to a hospital in Wichita, Kansas to have tubes, lines, and drains moved around in her body. She is severely diabetic, to the point that her kidneys no longer function. So every other day she sits in a quiet room while machines clean out her body they way her kidneys should have. The process isn’t perfect and comes with a lot of risks. One of which, that she’s fighting now, is that the line in her arm is stealing from her arm somehow. Her fingers are turning black and numb, dying out. The only way to save her arm is have the line closed and a new one added elsewhere, though then it will just kill what ever other body part it gets hooked to.
I never really know what I’m supposed to do or say here. I see her now weak and frail, her long black hair gone, a silver medical id reminding me that her time is almost up. And, I’ll be honest here, I don’t feel it. What exactly is my reaction supposed to be? Tell me how to act and I’ll at least fake it for a while.
Doesn’t that sound so cold? I know, it’s harsh. I just, I don’t know how to feel anything towards my own mother. While other moms baked cupcakes and sewing button on costumes for school plays my mom went off and week long benders and slipped away in the middle of the night with guys she had just met for months at a time. While other moms were yelling at their kids to do their homework my mom was yelling at me for being a whore because a guy gave me a ride home from work. She was a severe bipolar who refused to take her medications, because she wasn’t sick really, it was just that everyone else was out to get her. At least in her mind.
One minute she would be cooking spaghetti in the kitchen, the next trying to kill herself because her boyfriend wasted money on garlic bread as a surprise for dinner.
In all the years since high school there has never been this great moment of forgiveness. To her none of the things I remember vividly ever really happened. They were pushed into the land of “Summer’s stories” within minutes of happening. More things she could file away into the “everyone is out to get me file” so she could share what a poor, poor woman she was dealing with such a ungrateful, horrible daughter.
So I look at her now and I don’t feel anything. Not anger, sadness, fear, sorrow, and certainly not love. She’s just mom. She shows up, hands the boys a cheap plastic gifts, and moans about this or that hurting her now. And I’m as detached as I would be talking to a total stranger. I smile and nod, add in a sympathetic sounding phrase, and hurry her back out the door so we can get back to living.
[tags]family, life, personal, mother[/tags]
You know that I understand. I worry about the day when my mother becomes ill and I’m looked upon by others to be a dutiful daughter and I just honestly don’t know what the appropriate response is supposed to be. I don’t feel anything either.
The only feeling I have towards my mother is gratitude for teaching me how NOT to be a mother to my own kids. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.
You’re allowed to feel whatever … even if it’s nothing.
And if you think someone is going to flail on you for feeling nothing, then just fake it in front of them.
No one can tell you how to feel. They just can’t.
(hugs)
I understand.
Wow, Summer. ::hug::
It’s so bizarre for us to be so detached from our own mothers and so very attached AS mothers.
And yes, you’re entitled to your own emotions. You’ve certainly earned them.
I would love very much to give you some sort of script…but that would do you a dis service. I was here, I listened and I don’t know the right answer either. *hugs*