Thank you, Dawning, for inviting me to write more about my feelings of loss. I hope it's OK with others too.
I was devastated when my Dad died four and a half years ago. We were very close, although I knew he always put NMum on a pedestal above all others. When NMom then informed me she was moving here, I went through all kinds of emotion! Mostly, I thought "Oh no!!
Anything but that." I had to swiftly get over Dad's death and be ready to deal with NM. I had no choice in the matter.
I tried to approach the situation positively, and built up my hopes that maybe there was a chance we could develop our relationship - maybe she would become the mother I longed for, instead of a kind of brat kid sister who threw a tantrum and got her own way all the time! Why did I ever imagine that could happen?!
I'm a problem-solver and a fixer. It's inherent in my job, and I think it's part of how I'm made: it's what I do. So I keep trying to make things better, make things right (whatever that is), do the right thing, etc. I usually get pretty good results: I'm just not used to such
complete failure.
Bit by bit, as the years have passed, I'm having to aknowledge that this is something I
can't fix and never will. I talk to friends about it and counsellors and psychologists and they say, "Why not try this, or do that." I don't want to hear that any more - suggestions from people who assume my NM is like a 'normal' person and potentially redeemable. It gets my hopes up again and again and they're invariably dashed again and again - it's heartbreaking and painful and I'm
so tired of it.
So now I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that there
is no hope, that she will
never change, that she will
never be what I need her to be, that I have to get that kind of love elsewhere or do without. And yet I have to keep on with some semblance of a relationship, because she's my
mother.
If she was my job, I would quit; if she was my spouse, I would divorce her; if she was an ill-fitting pair of shoes, I would throw her away! But I have to keep limping on, blisters and all. She
has no-one else; she's driven them all away; my sister lives on the other side of the world. I don't want to be responsible for her but I am.
I spent an hour and a half on the phone to my sister this morning (ooh, expensive!!) and (amongst other things) we talked about how
false it always feels to have even the simplest conversation with NM. We can never just relax and be ourselves; you daren't go beyond the most surfacey of small talk, lest it be used against you then or in the future.
When Dad died, I lost
both my parents: him and the mother I never had. Sometimes (like now, after a few glasses of wine and pouring out my heart to strangers around the world) I can hardly bear it.
Sorry my mood is so black tonight.
Thanks for listening.