Sunday afternoon ramble

I never did tell you that mom did talk to me last week when I called her on her birthday. It was a cool but cordial conversation. It left me unsure of where we stood, but as far as I was concerned, I was at once relieved that we were on speaking terms and not particularly enthusiastic about speaking.

Yesterday, on the walk home from Whole Foods, I stopped into a local thrift shop and found my dream pair of jeans for $5. Except I didn't have any cash on me--I'd gone there straight from an all-morning volunteer gig--and thought the place had a $10 credit card minimum, so I grabbed a $4 cookbook on cooking with hemp and a $1 copy of Dr. Roberta Satow's "Doing the Right Thing: Taking Care of Your Elderly Parents Even If They Didn't Take Care of You." I probably needed that more than the jeans that justified the entire purchase.

Yes, I know, the title doesn't exactly apply--my mother did take care of me--though, is it ever that simple?

Anyway, dad called this morning to guilt me into calling mom more often. "Never mind what she says; she wants to hear from you." Okay.

Dad reminded me that mom is really not well. I've always thought he was the one in denial: she's fine, just an exaggerated version of the person she's always been. But maybe I'm the one who's been in denial and I need to figure out how to balance my part in taking care of mom with my new-found determination to limit my exposure to her abuse.

***
I also thought about mom in terms of the Shamu paradigm, which I've come to rethink or at least apply more selectively after someone offered the opposite perspective (in the context of a work situation): if you are training a dog, you have to start with the little things. Little rewards, or lack of rewards. for little things, build up to big rewards (or lack thereof) for big things. I got so good at ignoring my mother and letting her go on about how she'd always been supportive of me that there's no use breaking her delusions now. Of course, mom always discouraged the breaking of her delusions even in little ways:

Mom: I do everything for you and you've never done anything for me!
A.: Actually, I just [resolved your issue with the credit card company.]
Mom: Well, if you're going to keep score! I don't need your favors if they're going to cost me!

So you can't call mom out on anything, because she calls you out on keeping score. If I tried to point out to her, with specific examples, instances where she hasn't exactly been supportive, she'd just turn it into my being bitter for even remembering those things. I'm sorry; I have a very good memory. But I have an even better memory for when people have been supportive of me.

Even if I could present a convincing case to mom, I don't want to. Just like it's easier to clean up Gracie's poop every time than to try to teach her a lesson, it's easier to just let mom entertain her own version of events. I certainly don't need her to believe that she hasn't always been supportive, or rather, I only do need her to know it when she throws the opposite in my face. It's just like I don't keep score when I do things for mom; I only bring those things up when she makes a case of my never doing anything for her.

But dad made a very good point this morning, one that addressed my big question: are these really delusions? Does mom believe her own rants, or does she truly know, deep inside, that she's full of shit? Dad said that she does know. That she'll go on, outwardly, doing her thing, but really, she knows the truth.