Maria’s daugher: Sunday night and another week behind me and time to face the new (same old same old) week ahead. I am tired. I would like a vacation. I would like to take time for ME.
I am told, you have so much. Nice condo, New car, Job that you love, Family in town.
And that is all good and wonderful, but time. I have no time.
My weeks fly by and I accomplish nothing in the way of finding how to organize better so that I have a little pieces of time for myself.
My mother is 71, misses my dad who died a number of years ago, doesn’t want anything in her life to change, but it has and she will not accept it.
On Sunday morning I pick her up for church, but it is not just the picking up—it is arriving early so if she cannot find her prayer books, her rosary, her pocket book (purse) I can help her look. I can help her check her Sunday dress that her slip doesn’t show (oh how embarrassed she would be). Make sure the doors are locked and the coffee pot is off.
Church is a quiet time, peaceful and for this I am grateful till we are once again in the car—this is after saying “hello” to many women, all older, all, seems to me, hard of hearing, all have aches and pains, all have children who do not appreciate them.
Then the first battle of the week starts with --- Mom, let us go to breakfast.
Oh, no, Anna, come home. I will make breakfast for you. Remember how you use to love Sunday breakfast when you were a kid.
Mom, I cannot eat that much. I am no longer a growing child but a mature adult—no, doesn’t matter, from her way of looking at life –I am her child.
We end up with my having coffee with her and mom saying how no one wants to eat with her any more. No one likes what she cooks. She might as well be dead. No one cares.
By now it is early afternoon and I head home to finish paper work that should have been done earlier in the week and would have been done if Mr. .and Mrs. Thomas had not called me at the last minute (when I am waiting to show them a house for sale) to let me know relatives have arrived and they cannot leave. My luck the house was on the other side of town and with traffic (seems to get worse every day) it took three hours out of my day.
A light dinner, a run in the park and Sunday has disappeared from my radar.
Week days are pretty much the same. I arrived at Mom’s house around nine (after a quick run in the park). She has lots to say—not to discuss, just to let me know what is wrong with:
Her daughter in laws, Her children, Her neighbors, The weather, The government
I have given up trying to find solutions for her—she doesn’t want them—she doesn’t need them—so I just sit and wait and let her finish her litany.
I asked if she needs anything at the store and the answer is usually, No, but if you could come and pick me up tomorrow we could go together and I could pick out what I want. She tells me I can wait in the car as I tell her all the time that I never have time to myself—so she is giving me, in her eyes, minutes to myself. I would laugh except that I know she is sincere.
Monday more paper work at the office. I usually try to get in by ten and out by four, but of course that doesn’t include showing homes in the later afternoon or evening when most customers have the time to look at what we have to offer.
At least twice a day mom calls to ask a question—easy question, I just wonder if she is starting to forget things or just trying to mark time by calling. For example she wants to know if maybe we need more coffee this week or how soon will postage stamps be going up—do we need to make a trip to the post office this week—doesn’t sound like much and it isn’t except in the middle of a hectic day or with customers sitting in front of my desk.
I try to stop by to see my mother in the evening, I know days are long for her, but times when I am tired I find it hard as there is no real visiting or enjoying her—she misses dad to much—she should have gotten out and made a life for herself after he passed, but as she use to say—what good am I. I know only how to take care of children and cook—
Right after dad died the grandchildren would come and visit, but being that my brother’s work and being that their wives are not really appreciated or liked by my mom, this activity soon ended.
The children are now teenagers and they don’t want to sit and listen to grandma tell stories of their parents when the parents were young. They don’t want to hear about their grandfather, or Italy, or mom family or dad’s relatives—they want to know why grandma doesn’t have a computer—why they cannot call their friends when they are at her house—and so that doesn’t work out well.
I know my sister Elena is very busy—Mom thinks Elena shouldn’t be working—she should stay home with her kids—she should and she should and she should and that is all the conversation about Elena.
The boy’s, mom seems to understand better. They have to support their families. They have to work hard especially the way their wives spend money—they should have married Italian girls who would stay home and have babies.
On Saturday I try to spend time with friends, running in the park (it is keeping me sane), a lunch date now and again—usually with girls friends as I find it to hard to date—I have no time that I can give anyone regularly every week, except mom.
On Saturday I go to mom’s to see what has to be done—walk thru the house and take a stroll in the yard—it is a big yard We go shopping if she needs anything, this is hard as she doesn’t like the new fashions and so wears the widow black all of the time.
She is 71, which today is not old, but she is old, hanging on to the old ideas, old traditions, and old memories.
She is my mother, I love her deeply and when she passes I shall miss her, but right now she is driving me crazy and I wish it wasn’t so.
Just a few more thoughts
The house needs repairs and tho the four of us are happy to help her it just take time to have handy men come in—I like to be there to know the work is being done right or to keep her from giving them instructions as to what else needs to be done.
Her doctors appointments need to be made—no, she doesn’t like to ride the free bus—it is for the elderly and we all know she isn’t elderly.
She needs to be taken to the market, to church, to the store to buy thread or this or that. She does love the old dime stores and Target just won’t do the trick for her so all the time—she is back in the fifties telling me, the clerks and anyone who will listen how great things use to be, how inexpensive, how kind the clerks were, how the clerks were so helpful. I have heard it a thousand times and found it exhausting the first time, so you can imagine after ten years of same old same old.
I love her and I will miss her when she passes but right now I wish the other three (no I understand) could take the time to visit her oftener, to take her shopping once in awhile, to run her to church because
This is snide when I say I am tired they asked what I do with my time that I could be tired—after all taking mom here and there isn’t anything like talking young children when the kids have to be watched every minute—how expensive it is to support kids, do I even think of the cost of what kids shoes cost?, etc.
etc. etc.
We, as a family, try to get together at least once a year. We have given up seeing each other for Christmas dinner as it is too hard with the in laws, children etc. Just a few too many people.
Thanksgiving was a great day to get together—the menu was the same, traditional meal, year after year, but mom was unable to understand why the men had to watched football (dad never had the TV on while we ate dinner)
The children were in the house, due to the cold, so it was to nosey.
The house was to cold,
The children shouldn’t be allowed to run in the house, to play “that type” of music.
So finally we decided 4th of July. Summer—we can have the get together in the park—no TV. Kids can run and play and not interrupt the grownup as the visit—hot dogs and hamburgers—chips and dips, coke (which the shouldn’t be drinking) and soft drinks. Beer. If it is to hot we put up a shade cover for the adults to sit under.
I love my mother and wish with all my heart that I could have known her when she was young, in love, busy, happy and felt that she was needed and had a purpose in life.
I love my mother, but there are times when I would just like to walk away from the house and never return—I know I won’t because I am the only one that has the time to care for her. There is that word –time-- and I know some day I will have plenty of it—to do what I want to do, to travel, etc.
Maybe the joke is that I will be too old, to bitter, to cranky, to unhappy to enjoy my life—hope not, but who knows.
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