Mother's day
For some reason, I can’t seem to remember spending any of the past Mother’s day with my mother. So this was the first.
Just as sudden as she left, she came back 2 days later. But if felt more like my mother had left, and someone else resembling her had returned. She was in a relapse again. All the symptoms returned; erratic, aggressive, argumentative and without any sense of the presents. She was talking a lot of nonsense, harping on issues ranging from a year ago to a decade ago. It felt like a familiar nightmare had just returned.
As expected, my brother was very hostile towards her and intimidated her physically and emotionally. She went on and on again about not needing medication, of how all the doctors and her friends were really against her. Worst of all was, she was limping again. She insisted that there was a shard of glass in her left leg, that would travel to her heart and kill her. That was always a sure sign to me that she was totally delusional.
She cried a lot and shouted a lot. I tried talking to her like how I have been the past 2 months. These past 2 months has been some of the best times I have spend with my mother. We went for long walks out in the part, dinner just she and I, exercise sessions and chatting in the play ground. She and I were able to connect on a level, like a mother and son, and I was really happy. But the person standing in front of me now was not the one I had countless conversations with recently. Just like that, for some reason, she was back to that ‘bad’ mom again the one that could never even listen to or finish a proper sentence. It was useless, and I lost my temper one too many times trying to reason again.
So it was back to square one again, and we had to pressure her to take her medication, since she was resisting. I knew that it was an accumulation of all the stress and anger she had been bottling for the past 2 months. My brother required her to cook 2 meals a day for our house mate and himself. I was seldom home, so I only took meals at home once in a while. He ordered her around, making her iron his cloths, and the only times he spoke to her was on what to cook the next day. To put it not so nicely, my brother was and remains a jerk. But he was to ignorant to see that. When she came back on Wednesday, my brother wanted nothing more that to just stay away from her. He even had the cheek to ask me to bring her along to where I was going, so that he was free to go pursue his own activities. It is his way of escaping. My brother has always found his comfort in friends more than in family.
But she did gradually improve, and her aggression tone down considerably, though she remains sad. On Mother’s day, I brought her to church with me. The weeks before, she had refused to go to church. She wanted only to go to service and leave so to avoid having to talk to anyone. I was worried, since she was still talking a lot of nonsense, and she was still a bit scruffy looking; she never cares much for her hygiene during these relapses. I think sadness was probably written on my face. Unlike my usual self, I avoided having too much conversation, because I knew she would want to leave, and I was feeling down myself. I brought her to a nice restaurant to eat; it was the least I could do for her for mothers day. But it was no happy affair. We ate in silence and just went home.
At times like this, it really pays to have a friend. I felt the need to talk to a friend, but I didn’t really have any private time of my own. All of my time these few weeks has been spend either working, with my girlfriend, or with my mother. As I watched her from behind during service, I felt a pang of sadness going through my heart again. Things were not well for my mother, on Mother’s day of all days. I know the rest of the congregation would probably stare at her peculiar behaviour, but would be too polite to ask or say anything in front of us. My only consolation in church was that people seemed to constantly praise me for bringing my mother along with me to church. They tell me they can really see that I love and care for her very much. Though it may be selfish to say this, but it made me feel better; to feel notice, appreciated and complemented for my efforts. For so many years, I suffer in silence, shouldering the burden of caring for my mother, as I do now, not telling more than I need to others. For some reason, some part of me always wants to share my struggles and emotions with others, while another side always holds back, ever conscious, ever putting on a brave front to others.
In 2 weeks I will be leaving and traveling to the other side of the world, where I would stay for the next 4 months. I worry over what is going to happen while I am away.
posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 4:45 pm
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