Mothers' Day From The Dark Side

No, it's not the obvious. A day celebrating something I'm not. Although I did struggle with that a couple decades ago, and knew fully well it was self-centered to feel that way at the time. I, with my husband, chose our path with open eyes. Still, I suppose it's foolish to never think about the road not chosen. And I'll admit, I still have some blues this time of year when there is one graduation after another. Yes, that could be our kid. The beautiful kid someone told me she was sure we would have had.

 Yeah. Sigh. Anyway:

An alternate title for this post could have been 'WHY, OH WHY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN'T WE HAVE NORMAL MOTHERS????'

A little dramatic? A bit. As for the accuracy, who knows. They may be more normal than we think.

As I write, I have one mother is two thirds through a 15-day European river cruise. And will probably expect some sort of Mothers' day fete or gift when she gets back. Idiosyncratic money hang-ups apparently presented no barrier whatsoever when it came to shelling out for this latest extravagance. But we heard all about the shocking cost of replacing tires on her car, or excavation to fix repeated basement floods. There always seems to be this bewildered surprise when the house or car needs something replaced or fixed. But the world travel/fun budget apparently is limitless.

Will there be pictures to share with family members when she gets back? Surely you jest. That would require a working camera, and the patience, focus, and mindfulness to record images as the journey is taking place. When asked, before the trip, if she had gotten her camera fixed, the answer was a breezy 'Oh, no. I probably should.'

I suppose there is something to be said for living in the moment, and not worrying about stopping to snap a picture. I myself have felt burdened by a camera at times, and have wondered if it would be better to just put it down and LOOK with my eyes, and let my brain capture the images and do the processing.

Then again, when you repeatedly let everyone know what kind of trip you are going to be taking, month upon month in advance, you should probably expect that people may welcome the usual silly selfies, pics of the undoubtedly fabulous scenery, food shots, etc. For some, this kind of vacation is utterly out of reach, and there is bound to be some curiosity and wishful thinking. And if you're really serious about spending every last cent of your children's inheritance, and repeatedly state so for years, laughing as you do it, wouldn't you want the photographic evidence to prove it?

The other mother in my immediate family is working like it's her job to sidestep, avoid, and procrastinate the operation that has been in motion for at least three years. That would be to move her and dad out of a too-large, labor-intensive, inconvenient and increasingly unsafe home.

Is that the kids' opinion of things? Yes, absolutely. Dad's, too.  Are we likely to hear her opinion of things? Only in the form of vague, fluttery answers. I can imagine the in-depth, cut to the bone discussions have probably occurred with the son placed in the role of executor/power of attorney. But the issue has been the 9000-pound gorilla in the room for so long now, I can't even remember when it wasn't there.

Operation Downsize (aka 'We've Been Told We Have To Move') has been spearheaded by the POA brother, but wholeheartedly supported by the rest of the family. It has progressed the point where there is now a furnished, tidy ground-floor apartment with two bedrooms, two upgraded baths (one with a sweet, senior-friendly walk-in Jacuzzi tub), daily meals provided, conveniently located in an assisted living complex in their home town, less than five miles from their current house. Move-in day was more than two weeks ago. Every bit of that work was done by family and friends. The only minor items not installed at this this time are mom and dad.

So it was on Mothers' Day I found myself sitting in the living room of this apartment, listening to my mother in law softly declaring that she wasn't sleeping there tonight, she had far too many projects to occupy her time at the house (unspecified projects that were 'too dirty' for me when I inquired if these were something we could help with), that she had far too many items including medications that she would have to bring. 'Please,' she concluded.

I resisted the urge to quip 'That's why they call it moving'.

And there is a new tag line that will take its place next to the established 'Gotta Go Where The Bus Goes' (TM). We're hearing this repeatedly these days. It's 'I've Got Problems Of My Own'.

Really. Do tell (She won't). When I asked her what she'd like to change about that, I didn't get a specific answer. I'm beginning to suspect the ownership of that phrase gives her more pleasure and contentment than solving any of these mysterious problems ever would. That would mean breaching privacy (a huge no-no with her), sharing information with us perpetually 12-year old sons and daughters-in-law, confiding things and seeking help. And possibly finding out she's really not all that different than anyone else.

A self-serving, unfiltered rant began to coalesce, like magma slowly melting and churning far beneath a volcano. Over the last couple days, it has taken shape, and if allowed to explode through the cracks and erupt out of the crater, it might sound something like this:

'Do you have any idea how freaking fortunate you are? How many 91-year olds are lucky enough to still be on the grassy side of the dirt, let alone in as good shape as you? In case you hadn't noticed, this is an apartment, not a nursing home. A pretty nice apartment, at that. If you're going to blow it off, how about letting us use it for a weekend/vacation condo??  And how many parents have not one, not two, but FOUR sons who would drop (and HAVE dropped!) what they are doing to do whatever you needed done? Who all get along with each other, including all four of their wives (who would also do whatever you needed/asked!)  Have you counted the untold hours your two youngest sons have logged to make this transition possible for you? And make it possible for you to take it in baby steps? What new BS excuse are you going to add to the list of why you can't leave the house? Why didn't YOU freaking plan ahead for this yourself so it was YOUR idea? How many elderly parents might simply be told to up and move, but you got YEARS of gentle, considerate discussion. And speaking of sons, let's wonder what the hell we're going to do if we're fortunate enough to reach your stage in life. We have NO children to proactively look out for us, take over our paperwork and bills, or arrange every miniscule damned thing for us. And why in the blue hell did you even sign lease papers? You willingly signed them, and I damn well know it was without coercion.  I wish I had the kind of money you seem to have to be able to hose away thousands of dollars a month to rent this unused apartment, while still paying taxes and utilities on a big house. And speaking of that big house, have you noticed no one has mentioned putting it up for sale? Because we AREN'T putting it up for sale. There it is, your big-ass museum/store-room for all your precious stuff. Stuff which has survived a disaster-free life for you to still possess things from your childhood.  It's not freaking going ANYWHERE.'

Needless to say, that volcano is going to stay capped. But based on the articles and comment threads I have read online, there are many other boomers sitting atop the same seething lava. And many have it worse than us.

One mother is making a career out of having fun. The other wouldn't recognize fun if it walked up to her dressed in a clown suit and squirted her in the face with a fake flower.

Wouldn't some middle ground be a refreshing change?