Mother Fuck
I was woke from a gentle sleep by a text stream from hubs and the DIL. The DIL was discharged from the psych hospital yesterday. Details unavailable and not that interesting, anyway. The DIL remains a closed door to me and, like my closed door mother before her, it is easier to just leave the door closed. You want privacy toots, you got it. Enjoy. I suspect my own mother's door was already closed long before I was born. She is just a closed door lady. I haven't so much as approached that closed door in 40+ years. I was pretty much done beating my head on the DIL's closed door after the MIL/DIL blow-out, too. I am pretty convinced that lovers of closed doors ain't gonna open up until they open that door on their own. I don't care to count how many closed door lovers it took to build that conviction.
Tonight's hospital star is her husband and my youngest son. Again, details unavailable, but the sudden burst of text messages indicated that YS was missing. He turned up at the same hospital the DIL was discharged from yesterday. The grandkids are alone with a closed door mother who cannot even drive or ask for help without sounding like an arrogant military commander. She cannot even clean up after or take care of herself, much less kids. Her endless supply of precious thing piles each have lives of their own, forever creeping their crud. Shopping seems to be her one pleasure in life. Not everything even gets taken out of the shopping bag before she is off to buy more. Buying that proverbial stairway to heavan? She who dies with the most precious thing piles wins? Ya gots a way to go before you outdo my own mother. Not that the administrators let her take her precious thing piles to the nursing home with her.
Vent, vent, gnarl, gnash.
Do I get to stay focused on my own work? I kind of wonder how much of this drama is based on their one source of practical help (me) trying to have a life of her own. I find myself extremely resistant to the notion of heading the 190 miles back to resume business as usual. Who knows what the morrow may hold.
Stay focused? The domestic drama which has accompanied this move has not been real conducive to finding the initial focus.
Replies
Still feeling like a fucked mother. What sleep I got was rife with dreams of my own family and social workers in the poverty stricken neighborhood of Wilmington where my mother's nursing home sits. The labyrinth of social programs were housed around the park square where I passed hours pondering the wisdom of crossing the bridge of family estrangement between my own family and my birth family. I have visited my mother twice in the 17+ years she has been in the nursing home near that park square. I donae care to count how many times I have sat pondering in that park.
The dreams were not quite nightmares. *Just* frustrating. The social worker in charge of our case was a 20 something sweetie with ideals of gold. Hubs, sons, etc., were having a good time following her around the various programs housed in the remodeled 19th century State Houses. In real life, the fine houses are desperately in need of remodeling. You can buy them cheap. You can rent them cheaper. Gentrification needed. In the dream, the houses were fit for the people who paid for their initial construction. The remodeling was extremely well done. Hubs, sons, etc., were having a good time following the idealistic social worker through the program rooms. The social worker was watching me with pretty girl meanness as I longed to get back to my work here. I gots horse manure to shovel and barns to remodel. I have done my time in social program rooms during my long journey from child sex trafficking to . . . What am I today?
My sleep last night was sketchy, at best. This morning finds me spinning unfocused circles. Why can't life be simple and justy?
Easy does it. Methinks I need some guit-chi.
I'm worried about the kids.
Got nothing but a recommendation: Self-care. They're adults. You can give them advice, ranging from "Go get a therapist" to "Move to another country and shut up", but... one door lesson I know is that going near locked doors doesn't mean keyholes aren't portals for weaponry.... When they open the door.... THat's a whole other matter.
Wishing you peace
I'm so sorry this is happening. You never did anything to deserve all this drama and emotional/ psychological burden in your life. I don't know what to say, but I am praying for your and hubby's well being and the health and happiness of the grandkids.