Dear Pennyplant,
I'm noticing that your writing here has a very calming effect on my jangled nerves and I surely appreciate your taking the time to talk this over. Thank you.
I've enjoyed being 1,000 miles away from my parents for the past 5 years and generally prefer not to dig too deeply into the feelings I might have (or not have) for them. In my mid-40's also, it seems this season of breaking away has been a sort of delayed reaction with me... a late bloomer, I guess. They write each and every week and have done so for the past 5 years. Enclosed in their envelope, my Dad will put the church bulletin from that Sunday's service and a collection of little jokes (some of them rather raunchy) that he wants to share with us here
My mother encloses a dollar for each of the kids who are still here at home, paper-clipped to her little letter in which she's written her usual stoic/ martyr/ perfectionist/phony-sounding comments which never really manage to communicate much. Until recently, I'd let those weekly mailings pile up, unopened, for 6-8 weeks without even opening them. Avoidance seems to be my strong suit
I want to honor my parents, so I'm hesitant to even say what I really think or use too many adjectives in describing their behavior. I'm afraid that if I open those floodgates, it could get messy, so usually I try to just keep it factual.
My Dad has pulled stunts similar to what you describe with the bottle of Drambui, even when there was absolutely no reason for it whatsoever, and my mother is the queen of "Keeping up Appearances". A couple years ago, I got a thank you note from an elderly couple at our old church. It was very sweet of these folks, whom I'd always really liked, although we weren't particularly close. The odd thing was... I hadn't given them anything to warrant a thanks. Turned out my Dad had given them an item of his woodworking and told them that I had commissioned him to make this thing for them. What in the world??? He has also taken things in the past from my brother's house and brought them to my home to be used in some project or another. He simply takes what he wants, if he decides that one needs it and the other doesn't... as though it's all his stuff in the first place. Zero concept of where one person's boundaries leave off and another's boundaries begin. I guess we're all one to him... all one homogenous glob that he views as an extension of himself? ugh. I cannot even discuss my mother and her multiple attitudes at this point, except to give a couple examples. Dad asked me while they were here whether I've heard much from my 2 grown daughters who are both living out on their own now. As a side-note, Dad is rarely allowed to complete a sentence without my mother moving in to dominate the conversation. I tried to tell him about the phone call I got on Mother's Day and the photo my other daughter sent.... but she took over to repeat to us all the times she's talked with my girls. I ignored her and tried to plow on with answering Dad, till finally she subsided into a quiet, "I may even have a message on my answering machine when I get home." I, I, I, I, I....... ugh. You could be telling someone else about your birdseye view of a UFO landing on a river in Germany (
) and she'd cut in to ask, "Oh, was that the Danube? (no pause) Why, when I was on the Danube, the pilot of our boat... (insert Dad's name here), was his name Friedrich? Alfonse? [ Dad attempts to respond, knowing full well that he'll get the name wrong anyway and she's only looking for another opportunity to correct him ]
...... etc, etc......
It is truly unreal. And full of envy? Let me count the ways. I'd better not. But today.... well, they stopped by this morning after I posted here, as planned, only an hour late, with me counting the minutes until I could start cooking brunch for my hungry crew here... and we had just had a pretty good downpour of rain. But the rain had subsided. And here comes Dad to the door... all cheerful, looking to collect his final goodbye hugs before they get on the long road home. And Mother? My sweet son (age 10) took 2 umbrellas out to the car to usher her into the house, so she wouldn't melt in the few sprinkles of rain still falling... and she said to him, "I don't want anyone to get sick going out in the rain just to tell you all goodbye." umm... it was 70 degrees and a couple droplets.
Dad said meekly, "I guess Grandma's going to stay in the car; she doesn't want to get wet in the rain." He got his hugs, then went back to the car and asked us to just come to the door of the house to wave goodbye to her. Well, we did... and waited for a couple long minutes, but all we could see was his back, leaning into the car, obviously trying to talk her into coming in for a few minutes. Finally he gave up and got into the car, so we shut the house door. They just drove off. And that was that. I could have gone out to the car to her, but I didn't. God forgive me, but I'm not sorry that I didn't. Enough is enough, and it's been way more than that.
Penny, you said, "People who need to fool themselves in order to live with themselves will be able to do so." That rings so true to me. They'll be fine. And so will I. We went for a pleasant ride and that helped. Writing this has helped some more. Knowing that you can read between the lines helps the most. Thanks again for listening and for coming forward to post.
Hope
