Relationship
I fell asleep reading The Shack by William Paul Young, so my brain was in wonderment mode last night, which I thought should make for pretty cool dreams. Not so, I had somewhat of a nightmare with several icons of salient predators in my life, both past and present. My grandmother, my mother, this guy at work who makes me feel uncomfortable and an unknown force, a relative apparently, who is trying to find me to do me some harm. I spend a good deal of the dream hiding from this entity.
Dream- Takes place at my maternal Ngrandmother’s house, and my Nmom is there and the house is large, and in mirror-image to the one she has in real life, and with rug and window treatments consistent with my mother’s taste. It was bright and the windows were opened. I knew it was my grandmother’s home although it had been made larger or added upon obviously by my mother. From the front room, however, I could see through to a bedroom where a man was molesting an adolescent girl, rubbing a stick or ruler or grape flavored frozen ice-pop or some other phallic-type object up and down her pre-pubescent chest outside her shirt. After two swipes one up and then down, he then laughed a grimy pirate’s laugh, thanked her for bringing him the (phallic) object and sent her on her way. Almost as a fly on the wall observer, I witnessed her wipe the ick off herself, a slight brush to the front of her shirt and a wipe to the side of her face, while walking through the front room away from the bedroom where the man remained. The man I’m running from and hiding from within my grandmother’s house, (why else would I be at her house??!!) has me so afraid I’m peeking out of the windows and trying with a nervous fervor to avoid him. This guy from work, Mr. Williams (there’s a brief history of icky encounters) is in the dream. Is he the guy I’m hiding from and why in that house? I wake up perturbed.
I’m thinking this dream sucks. I thought it would be a whole lot more interesting if it were anything like the scenes from the book I’m reading. I shed tears last night while reading this excerpt about the grandeur and beauty of a waterfall as backdrop to a flower covered mountainside.
Despite my busy plans for the day, I think I should call my mother this morning. I called her last night but her phone went straight to voicemail and the mailbox was full. I’m a little worried that she has dropped into “avoidance” mode. And I call anyhow. The plan this morning if she does not answer is to leave her a voicemail if possible and just to let the whole thing alone and move on. However, she answers the phone this morning.
She remains in contact with the tax representative middle-man guy. He has consistently been advising her to give him a copy of all her tax records. She is stumped at a few places on the Turbo Tax return and is becoming frustrated at why the bottom line on her tax return is not matching the bottom line in her books. Turbo tax has given the ill-fated red-letter error message and she is absolutely stumped. She admits that she was just about to call me when I called her. She had just finished talking to my sister earlier this morning, who will not return from her 50 mile away, hideaway, where all the important and relevant business papers live. She won’t come to mom, therefore, today mom’s plan is to go to the town where sis’ is and to work on these tax papers to turn over to the tax middle-man. This agent, to whom she’s signed over Power of Attorney, has said his team can help her because they know things about dealing with the IRS she can’t possibly know and that he can likely get a Compromise going if she would just give him all her missed tax filings and another payment installment to his company. This would be hard work, he promised, but they “should” be able to get something worked out for her.
She matter-of-factly mentions that she had a summons for Sept. 10, tomorrow, to appear before the IRS man himself (Mr. “Three Strikes-don’t call me back until your current-there’s nothing you can do,” IRS man) with all of her financial paperwork and current financial statements. Her plan, I’m appalled to say, was to blow off the summons for her to appear tomorrow. She said, with vehemence, “He already said, ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ and the {tax middle-man} said he would take care of things just as soon as I fax these papers over to him.
She says, while reminding herself out loud not to say anything negative about my sister that sis’ is going to help her finish up the paperwork and that sis is going to help her (mom) “stay focused” so that they can complete the work of transferring the clients and completing the un-filed quarterly and annual tax returns. Truthfully, all of the quarterly payroll returns were completed by the accountant and only required a signature by my mother or mom’s stamped signature that could be applied by my sister and mailed off. More often, more recently, this had not been done. My mother doesn’t admit this, she just acknowledges that she has proof of something or another and rambles a bit about what the tax representatives promise to do for her once she gets these forms completed.
I mention again that the tax middle-man is a waste of time. I say, he’s right, he knows the IRS better than you. He knows that the writing is on the wall and that the next phase is total liquidation of her business by the IRS. I told her it would be foolish of her to avoid a summons to appear before the IRS officer. It would give Mr. Three Strikes exactly what he needs to show a judge proof of due diligence and due process and to then be able to proceed, full speed ahead, with the job of quickly shutting down the business. He was not subtle about this. Without sounding like a reprimand, I presented the facts that were before this IRS officer: unfilled tax returns, unpaid payroll taxes, etc. He never actually ever met my mother; for all he knows, she could be walking around flaunting the cash of her unpaid taxes in diamonds or furs or new cars, etc. (Little irony here, she actually did go around flaunting diamonds and furs and new cars back in the 90s when the money flowed as such; now her currency is odd jobs for “peons” and living expenses for grown children and ex-husband). I mention to her that without knowing anything about her, never having spoken to her to know what she’s been doing over the last few years and not knowing why she failed to pay her taxes, he can only imagine the worst. I offer her the option of presenting herself to him as, here’s a thought, a human-being who has made some mistakes and is now willing to be transparent and cooperative and at the mercy of this officer for her livelihood. I mention that she should consider taking in her hospital bills and bringing up the unexpected business upheaval that took place in 2006 when a long time employee left her and took half her clientele with her, sending the entire business reeling off of its’ axis. When I used the words “human-being” a distinct mood change took place in her.
Silence.
She, like the 50s era cartoons, pulls another “Eureka, I’ve found it!” and declares that what she’s decided to do is to face the IRS officer on tomorrow and to put all if today’s efforts towards presenting her case tomorrow and attempt to see what could be done to help herself while working directly with the officer. She mentioned here that the tax representative middle-man hadn’t answered her phone calls in three days. She then did something completely out of left field.
She then said to me, in a tone almost defiant and furious, “Thank you so much, [Tiffany] You don’t know how much this means to me. She then went into a story about something that happened yesterday. She said that she was at her mother’s house, (after a long and painful period of no contact with her); she was talking to her about what she wanted for her and her mother’s relationship. She wanted that they would look back on the bad history between them and be able to laugh about the “sad times” now that time has past. She wanted their relationship to be restored and she mentioned to Ngrandma that she also wanted this restoration for hers and my, her own daughter’s relationship. For us to be able to talk and to become closer as she got older as things would become less and less about money. She wants to be able to laugh about the sad times. She used words like reconciliation and mistakes and support.
She again said she appreciated me calling to check on her this morning and for giving her such wise advisement. She said it made her feel good that I would call and check on her and that every word I’ve said is valuable. She said it meant so much as there was NO ONE who understood the gravity of what she was going through except me. Which led directly into an apology for what I had to go through with my business because of her, What follows I’ve tried to present verbatim and in the chronological order in which she spoke her thoughts:
“It makes me feel sorry for messing up and not being attentive to the business. I repented to God for this. I’m sorry about how it went with you. I hereby make a promise that I, if allowed to “come back” from this would do something to help you get out of the situation your life is in now. I would not wish to be rich I would just mange my own life and I would share with you where I could. Last week, in the midst of my troubles, I sowed the seed for my granddaughter, Jordan, and with a promise that as I pay my taxes on time, I will continue to sow more seeds to you and yours. You are the only one who is working hard for your money and you’re ‘out there’ learning the lessons of life. Like your brother, who’s hanging out with this rich, old guy whose showing him things and teaching him lessons, things that your daddy should have shown him growing up, but we won’t get into that right now… You are learning life’s lessons and it looks like you are going to be all right. From time to time, in the future, when you’re in a pinch, you’ll need me and I’ll be there for you. You may not it’s coming from me, but I’ll be there for you. You can call on me, and you don’t have to be ashamed or fearful to come to me and I’m going to help you, Tiffany, Tiffany, are you there? Can you hear what I’m saying to you?
I respond to her. “Yes, I hear you, I appreciate the apology. I look forward to a day when we can look at the sad times and appreciate the lessons learned from them. There have been times where I needed your financial help and had nowhere else to turn and you gave it to me. This is bigger than the “sad times” of the past. I’m trying to move on into my future. To God be the glory, Mom, and we awkwardly get off the phone.
I’ll process this more later, but for now I feel as though I’m witnessing the N with her back to a wall, attempting to bargain and make promises for the future while acknowledging some mistakes of the past. I have to say I’ve never seen her like this before. I’ll be careful with my heart and remain humble with what I’ve received today. An apology, validation that she made my recent life a hell, and an acknowledgment that she withheld her sharing and caring from me, that means something. Do I need much more than that, really? I think I’ll accept that for right now. But, as the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished, and the ramifications of today’s promises, good or bad, have yet to be realized. I will some day have to answer for my council to her during this time of duress, of this I can be sure. Will I grow to regret or appreciate my role in this scenario, only time will tell.