Thursday, March 31, 2011
Progress. Oh My God, People, We Have Progress
Well, if this keeps up, I'll be a regular blogger again! My mother called me last night. I was on the other line when she called, so I didn't answer, and she left a very nice voicemail. She said that she just wanted to let me know she was thinking about me. So I called her back, and we had a really nice little chat. It was about 7:30 and I was driving home (I had gone to a Zumba class after work), and when I told her that, she laughed because she had waited to call, thinking that I would be home, have dinner over with and be free to talk. (HA to the HA. If only my life were that orderly.) We talked about regular stuff, my job and her job, and her family. (My great-aunt is still alive, thank God. I was really worried that she had passed away and no one knew how to get in touch with me. Which is a situation I created, but still. I was worried.) And I invited her to come visit sometime. We didn't set a time for her to visit, but still. Baby steps. And at the end of the call, I told her I loved her. Um, because I didn't the last time. The call lasted about 20 minutes, and then we ran out of things to say, so I guess that means that my mom and I can get along in 20 minute increments. It's a start. I still feel really conflicted about all this. I feel like I'm waiting on the other shoe to drop. Sure, she's being nice now, but how long is that going to last? Part of me is really pissed off that I'm being so naive as to let her back in. That part of me feels like I'm going to feel like a huge fool when she hurts me again. But part of me is a little hopeful that maybe we can have a decent relationship. I'm not saying I think we'll be besties and go shopping together on the weekends, but maybe we can talk and not hate each other. She sounds old on the phone, you guys. She has one of those brittle, old lady voices. I didn't recognize her voice when I called her last week. It makes me kind of sad to hear it. And my dad looks older every time I see him. That's one of the reasons I decided to call her again after all these years. Neither of them will live forever. Might as well at least try to make peace with her now.
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12 comments:
Oh, the sounding old on the phone makes me feel so conflicted. I do hope this goes well, with civility and no hurting.
i am thinking hopeful thoughts for you - that the civility and niceness continues indefinitely :)
lots of hopeful-good-relationship thoughts your way!
Swistle - YES. It really gets me to see it in my dad and hear it in Mom's voice. Thank you for your good wishes!
Alice - Thank you so much!
Devan - Thank you - we definitely need them!
Wow, how exciting. She's trying! Which has to count for something right? I mean, so you probably won't ever have the quintessential mother/daughter shopping on Saturdays and baking cookies laughing as you're covered in flour Hallmark commercial relationship. BUT a relationship viable in 20 minute increments is a lot more bearable than one filled with regret. SO happy for you. I'm thinking nothing but positive thoughts for your future.
Mrs. Irritation - Yes, she IS trying and yes, that DOES count for something. It counts for a lot in my book, actually, because one of my main feelings about my mother has been that she HASN'T TRIED with me, ever. So I do view this as real, significant progress. Thank you for the happy thoughts, it means a lot.
Oh, I'm so glad you are talking with her. Down the road, I think you'll be happy that you did.
Shauna - Thank you. I really hope I will be.
There is so much pain and misery in the world, usually of human making... It always makes me SO EXCITED to hear stuff like this. People doing hard work, trying to make things a little better between them. I am so happy for you, and hoping so hard that you are rewarded for putting yourself out there.
Sarah - thank you so much. I definitely agree that there is too much pain and misery out there. I hadn't thought about what I was doing in that context and it really touches me that you do. Thanks so much for your kind words.
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