Mother’s day 30 years ago

[fbhjr]

I sent my mother an eCard for mother’s day.
I sent her one for her birthday 10 days before when she turned 81.
When my father turned 80, we had a big party for him.
When my father’s sister turned 80, we had a big party for her.
My mother got an eCard.

There is part of me that regrets that.  Not because I feel at all guilty
about not doing more.  I have done nothing more than that for more than 15
years now.
But, because dealing with her causes me a lot of pain and damage, and that
isn’t how it should be.
It shouldn’t be a case where the only way I can have a relationship with my
mother that does not cause me damage is to avoid her.
But, that is the way it is.

To give you an example from 30 years ago:
It was the spring of my freshman year in college.  My mother and I had been
fighting quite a bit because I had not pursed a Navy scholarship, and she
had wanted me to do so.  But, I had a friend in the Army ROTC and saw that
it was a lot of work I didn’t think I could afford.  Plus they didn’t have
the program at my school, so I’d have to take a bus to the other side of
town to the school that did have it.
My grades were already not very good, and I didn’t see how this would make
them better.
But, my mother resented the tuition cost and we would fight over it.

I had agreed to come home on Mother’s day.  I took the bus to Boston, the
train to Islington and walked to the house from the train station.  I was
going to spend the night and my father would drive me back to school on his
way to work the next morning.
“Wear something nice as your father is taking us to a nice place for
dinner,” had been my instruction, so I was wearing my suit.
I got there and she greeted me.  I handed her my present.  (I don’t
remember what it was.  I know as a college freshman I had little cash, so I
doubt it was much.)
“There’s something I want you to do for me for a present,” my mother said.
“OK,” I said.  “What do you want.”
“I want you to dig me a garden in the front yard,” she said.
“OK, when?”
“Now, before we go to dinner.”
“I n my suit?” I asked.
“Didn’t you bring work clothes?”
“Why would I?  You told me to dress nice for the restaurant.”
“Well, if you didn’t bring work clothes you’ll have to do it in your suit,”
she said.  “I want it along the front walk, about 10 feet wide and 18”
deep.  You should start right away as we’ve got to go to the restaurant in
about 2 hours.”
“18 inches deep?” I asked.  “The good soil is only about 4” deep.  If you
want a garden you should build up a small wall around it and pour more soil
in.”
“You’re just trying to get out of turning over the soil,” she said.  “Get
out there and dig.”
I tried.  The rock and clay start just after the grass, and well above the
18” she wanted.  And, since all my father did was pour soil over the
glacier droppings that made up his yard, none of the rocks were removed.
My brother, 16 at the time, watched me try for those two hours.  Requests
for his assistance were forwarded to my mother who explained that this was
my present to her, not his.

The whole exercise confused me as my mother had never had a garden before,
or spoke of wanting one.  In high school I had grown quite a few plants,
mostly cactus, that my father had thrown away when I left for college.  My
mother had never show any interested in my growing plants, desire to join
in growing them, or regret at their loss.

After 2 hours I had the soil broken.  I had fished out a fair sized pile of
rocks.  No soil good for planting had shown up in my digging.  The results
were the brownish yellow of the clay and sand of the hill, not the dark
brown desired for planting.

“That’s a pretty piss poor job,” my mother said looking at it.  “I had
thought you were really going to put in a good effort since it was your
present to me.”
A lot of yelling happened after that.
It ended with my going in, grabbing the stuff I had brought with me and
starting to walk the 40 miles back to school.  (I didn’t have the money to
take the train/bus the way home.  And, it was years before I had an ATM
card to get more, or a credit card.)

For the second, and final, time my father caught up with me as I walked
down the road away from my parents and drove me back to school.  He said
he’d take my mother out in the evening instead of the afternoon.

I bring this up as it typifies the problems between my mother and myself.
I’m not trying to call her bad, evil or anything like that.
But, what she expects from me is very different from what I think she
expects.
She often gave me contradictory information (wear good clothes/work in the
garden)
She is very inflexible about what she wants from me and gets quite angry if
she doesn’t get it.
My attempts to deliver something as close to what she wants as I can manage
does nothing to appease her.

It took another 14 years of that sort of thing before I finally broke
contact.  Dealing with her was like putting my hand in a meat grinder.
And, I didn’t need to do that.  So, I stopped.

I’d like to say the eCards I send now are something positive.
But, they aren’t.
They’re me saying “I haven’t forgotten this is a special day for you.  I
just won’t give you anything more than a free email card that takes me less
than 5 minutes to send.”
My wife tells me that it is unlikely that is how my mother reads them.
And, she’s probably right.  Our communication certainly isn’t good and
never was.
How she reads them doesn’t matter anyhow.
As they say, it’s the thought that counts.

Comments

[chris-warrior.livejournal.com]

“That’s a pretty piss poor job,” my mother said looking at it. “I had thought you were really going to put in a good effort since it was your present to me.”

every time you write about your mother, i find myself saying "Yikes" a lot. and other stuff, not so mild.

[fbhjr.livejournal.com]

Maybe if I had said Yikes I would not have been in so many fights...

[palusbuteo.livejournal.com]

*shakes head*

Egads. (maybe saying that along with Yikes would have done something different...)

[brickhousewench.livejournal.com]

Wow, I think you mom goes right past passive-aggressive and onto aggressive-aggressive!

[temperlj.livejournal.com]

She IS a special cupcake.

[fbhjr.livejournal.com]

It could be worse, it could be slippers...
http://fbhjr.livejournal.com/218290.html

[brickhousewench.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, I'm familiar with the slipper re-gifting story! =0