Inexplicable

I'm sad and I don't know why. It's a general sort of malaise, a nearness to tears. I'm missing my grandma, but I don't think that's entirely it. I'm hating my day job, but that's a constant. I'm frightened of impending failure, but that should inspire fear, not sadness.



My grandma. More and more I'm feeling I didn't really know who she was, but still missing spending time with her. She was a given, my grandma, and you take family for granted. You forget to ask the right questions to find out how this person ticks and what they love. Then you get old enough to wonder what's important to them and sometimes by then the person is lost in a fog of regret or dementia or self-centeredness or forgetfulness.



I loved going to see my grandma when I finally got old enough to do so by myself. What I loved is that I could make her happy. I'd drive over and take her to lunch and we'd talk and maybe I'd take her shopping or to visit someone. I wrote about our outings when she died in November and I don't want to repeat myself, but I've been thinking of those moments more and more.

Maybe I'm missing her because I loved her and knew she loved me and it wasn't complicated. As much as I say, oh, what a shame I didn't know her whole story, there's something wonderful about love without strings and without details. We enjoyed being together, and so we'd be together. Even towards the end, I saw her the Christmas before she died and as sad and frail as she was, she clearly perked up when I came in the room. The nurse even said, you must be one of her favorites. She's always been one of mine, I answered. I probably have written about that before, but it's that experience I miss - knowing that when you walk in a room, someone will perk up because your presence makes them happy.

I miss that, because every time I go home, I seem to make my mother unhappy. My relationship with her is more and more complicated, to the point that even when I do manage to enjoy her, she won't believe I enjoy her. She gets started on these long monologues sometimes on the phone, and I really love them. I love that she gets to talk about what's bothering her, because I can listen and that listening is one of the few things I can give her. And I love listening, because she's thoughful and personable and sometimes hysterical. But I can no longer convince her I enjoy listening. When I claim I do, she tells me I'm "laying it on too thick."

Also, I can't think of a single life choice I've made she actually approves. I don't make these choices for her, which is why I so often choose things she dislikes. It gets tiring, though, battling the distaste and disapproval. I'm frightened of her, of what she might say next. Because she's my mother, and I wish I could make her happy, but I can't.

Everything I need to do for myself seems to make her angry or disappointed. And she's the master at the pointed barb or, as my dad calls them, guilt arrows. A classic during my recent trip: "I know you don't like to spend time with me, but I don't suppose there's any way you can drive me to Sumter on your way to the airport?" There is no right answer. Even if you agree, it's not the right answer. Trust me, I tried.

I royally pissed her off with something that was ironically designed as a gift to her: cake. I ordered this huge birthday cake for all the different birthdays we were celebrating, and it turned out she had planned to make all these other birthday cakes, so she was mad that I interrupted her plan. (Of course, there is also the implied assertion that homemade, personalized cake is so much more valuable than anything storebought.) She did not, by the way, need to spend our entire vacation making cake, so I actually thought I'd be helping, but there is no helping my mother.

That's the killer: there is no help, no right answer, no way out of this maze of disapproval and anger. And I am disappointed in her. I am disappointed that she was so set on getting her way about the wedding and about everything subsequent to it that she was in no way emotionally there for me. Getting her way is becoming increasingly more important than any relationship we have. And I don't know how to get over that.

This may or may not be what is causing my blues, but it's clearly a factor.

Well. Have a good day, I guess. Go out and be brilliant and wonderful and hug the person who loves you absolutely.

And no, in case you're thinking it, my mother is not someone you can confront. You don't win, you only hurt and that hurt is never, never forgotten, even if the reason is eventually forgotten.