All I can do is play. It’s what I do best. I cannot drown myself in things beyond my control. The two mother types in my life have some level of disdain for me, but I love them both. I understand my mother-in-law’s feelings towards me, making forgiveness and love easier than with my own mother. I understand my mother-in-law more than she knows. I love her unconditionally and in that understanding, which is a lot more than she can say in my favor, but that’s not what this is about.
Naturally, I love my mother, even though our relationship is far from natural. The fact that I’m moving back to Texas presents deeper issues. I have to react. I cannot remain numb in futile attempt to salvage a line of communication hoping that I can be the better woman. The fact? She’s a liar. She lies. She’s dishonest. Not to be trusted. My mother reigns Queen of Self Preservation Isle. By any means and at all costs, she saves her own hide keeping face in front of countless strangers who probably give less of a whoopity-doo how her life played out. Life is the dealer. All a sane woman can do? Play wisely. Bluff. Go all in. Call. Raise. But play. Play! There’s no easy way out. And the house always wins. Yes, always. Life is a stage. All I can do is play. It’s actually what I do best. Where’s my Oscar?
My husband wants me to hate my mother so that he and I can link together in parent-hating stupor. That’s not who I am. I recognize that many choices made were by my mother were not the best for me, but I channel my feelings into mourning my dad and moving from there. If I rot away in bitter anger, what would it profit me? My dad would still be dead and I would still be no more closer to him than I was before just filled with anger. I choose to love. I choose to love my mother in spite instead and because. I choose to love my dad. Hate is a life shortening emotion and I need to be here for my own children. Life isn’t promised, but I do what I can with what I have been blessed.
As a youth, I subscribed to my mother’s version of my best life. Unbeknownst to me at the time, she operated under flawed motivation. She saw me as the bane of her existence, evidence of her affair. She blamed me for at least her first failed marriage and countless other misfortunes. She forced success on me as though it were the only way I could pay her back.
I did the thing. I earned scholarships. I succeeded on the job. Admittedly, there were many occasion which she set me up for failure, like revoking her car and kicking me out for no reason at eighteen. Reminded me of the way birds forcibly empty their nest. I remember my first week in my new apartment with my semi-new car having five dollars to last until the next payday. Thankfully, gas was a lot cheaper, I lived right across from the university, and got paid weekly. Instead of the part-time or weekend job, I had at least one full time job while carrying fifteen credit hours per semester. (I double majored.) It caused even more resentment when years later, the same boot-out did not apply for either of my brothers. I can blame a lot on not having any functional support from my mother beyond her legal requirement. Admittedly, I smugly turned my nose up on those fortunate enough to have benefit of free rent, free car, free utilities a second past high school including my brothers.
It took a lot of swallowing for me to get any headway with her, but she does win the award for “Most Improved.” She wanted so much for me. Much more than she had. Mainly, I think it’s for brag rights, but she’s always resented the fact that as a high school teacher, it has taken her twenty-five years and a few extra curriculars to finally earn $70,000 annually. She hawked over me waiting to live vicariously in my high-paying career. I chose to be a flight attendant. Coupled with the fact that I dropped out mid-semester, she labeled my life a disaster. Well, until I started flying her First Class to the Paradise Island with me every summer. Since then, she’s trusted my judgment. I paid for her trust, since I couldn’t otherwise earn it.
