You can imagine where it went from there. She stood at the top of the stairs trying to keep her tiny frame standing still and upright. When I collected myself I questioned, “Did you hear anything I said?†Oh my. Her response was something to the loving effect of, “Yes. I did. And you can leave. I don’t need you in my life. If you can’t understand me you can get the fuck out.†At this moment, I switched to salvage mode.
We moved into the kitchen where she began to throw money at me to find a shuttle to get to the airport to get out of her life. I refused to go. I insisted she’d regret it. She repeated that she “…was tired of it… [and didn’t] need any more hurt.†Adamantly, she demanded, “I don’t need anyone in my life. I’d rather be alone. Get out.†I attempted to offer empathy about how alone she felt, particularly after theloss of her parents. I also offered sympathy for her crappy job. However, I didn’t entirely allow her to abscond from responsibility. I tried to rationalize to her the need to take control of her emotions and her life. I don’t know if she heard me. She was emotionally set on high and had also been on her ninth porter.
I probably should’ve given up immediately, but I fought the good fight for two hours. I tried to reach two of my aunts wishing someone could get me out of this. I thought cleaning up her the broken beer bottle she threw at the sink, embracing her to keep her from throwing anything else, and holding her wrist in a standoff when she attempted to grab more breakables might slow her down. I thought after consoling her and giving her such adamant reassurance that I love her, understand her, and will always stand by her that she might come around. I finally gave in and left her with her face covered in her blanket and pouting within her own silent treatment and silent tears.
I had to phone my dad to let him know we weren’t coming and why. That wasn’t easy. Then I called my friend Jen to ask if I could come over. On the way there, I still tried reaching someone who could help. I finally got through to Jeremy who asked if my mom would really remember what happened. He also reminded me you should never tell someone beyond the point of no return that he or she is a drunk. Too late. As soon as I got to Jen’s my aunt in California returned my call. She suggested I tear up the sweet apology I wrote to my mom and act like nothing happened building on Jeremy’s advice.
Too late. After some wine and tears I went back home to find the note had in fact been read. I took it away anyhow. My Aunt who would’ve been close enough to rescue me had she not had other familial obligations then provided me hours of empathy because she, too, tolerated much of my mom’s maudlin demeanor. We discussed the strain and also solutions, but in later reflection, she recalled that my mom painted in black when she was in elementary school. Her teacher contacted my grandmother to let her know about this disturbing behavior. Other children, after all, chose bright colored crayons.
Wow. That explains even more than the tragedies and the crappy job she’s in. Still, even if her melancholy was born inside of her, my little girl heart wants her to be happy, to be free. I couldn’t bear to be abandoned all over again, but I can continue to bear her pain, so I patiently waited for the morning. When I awoke my mom busied about and I trepidly approached her, “Will you be ready to go today?†“Yes. Are we leaving at ten?â€
Oh boy, oh boy! My mom’s not disowning me. We’re going on vacation!!!!!!
