When They're Dying
Abandoned Iron Truss Bridge, Denton TX.
I've been thinking about love, lately. What it really means.
I used to think love meant you'd do anything for the other person, but now that I'm older, I realize that's not love, that's self-sacrifice, and ultimately that's not good for anyone. Not even for a child and parent.
My elderly mother doesn't live with me. I pay $500/mo so she can "live independently" — by which I mean "independent of me." If she were a sweeter sort of person, she'd live with me and my wife, pitch in for groceries and utilities, and we'd all have more money at the end of the month. But that's not who she is. She's very smart, and good looking, and... she doesn't maintain relationships well. Not even within her own family.
Her personality is a big part of the reason I'm so God damn agreeable. I grew up desperately searching for a way to make her smile.
When I was 7, for Mother's Day, I bought her a bottle of perfume at a drug store in the small East Texas town where we lived. The glass bottle was the shape of a cat. I thought that was cool. This was two or three weeks allowance for me. I'd never saved up for anything before. She tugged off the cat's head, sniffed, said Eww, and set it aside. She never wore it.
Now, is that the worst thing in the world? No. I wasn't beaten with coat hangers or burned with cigarettes.
Still... who does that? Any sane adult would put on a little cheap perfume, say it was lovely, and never wear it again. A thoughtful person would pour a little out each week, so it got "used up" and fully appreciated.
It's taken a long time for me to figure out my mother, but in simplest terms: She's a narcissist. And the worst time to be around a narcissist is when they're dying. I have to define my boundaries, even more tightly than before, to keep from being sucked into her wake.