The Sunday visit to mom is always a bit of an ordeal, but today takes the cake. She’s grumpy, annoyed, no fun at all. Looking for trouble it seems. And she finds it the moment she soaks the cookie in an afternoon tea that might as well have been venom.
Apparently she blames me for the divorce, now three years ago. I should have noticed dad was philandering. I neglected to warn her about it. If I had he wouldn’t have been able to siphon off most of their savings before abandoning her.
I try to steer the conversation to something more cheery, her upcoming birthday. It doesn’t work. She rants, sobs, weeps, swallows her words, then starts ranting again. The cuckoo religious overtones in her tirade are new this time. Me and my sister have jokingly discussed about dumping her in the loony bin before. Suddenly I’m thinking that might not be such an outlandish prospect after all.
I had vowed not to get sucked into her rants any more but I can’t help it. I am brutally honest with her and tell her that her anger will leave her lonely and isolated. She’s alienated most of her friends and family already and, at this pace, she’ll lose both me and my sis as well. I say lots of stuff I wish I could take back. I purposely hurt her. Then she does the same to me. When the dust has settled we watch TV for an hour without saying a word.
As I head home again mom hugs me for what seems like minutes.
“I’ll see you next Sunday?” she asks.
She’s insufferable. But she is my mom.
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