Lesson 5  Scene of Reckoning

“So good to see you, Mom.” I entered through the back into the kitchen so that I wouldn’t drip on my mother’s pristine wood floor in the front entry. I shook my raincoat outside the door to leave some drips there rather than bringing them in on her shiny linoleum and hung it on the family coat rack. “It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to get enough time to visit when I bring your treats.”

“You mean permission?” My mother crossed her arms over her braless breasts and stood with her head turned away from me,

I stuttered, “Permission … I … well … I don’t … know what you’re talking about.”

She looked me straight in the eyes. “Your German husband is a little controlling.”

And you’re not? Were words that passed through my brain with a groan. Here we go again! “Well, he is German but he also doesn’t have to give me permission to do I can do what I want.”

“So, you didn’t want to visit me over these last several weeks?” Her mouth pursed tight after her words had squeezed through the barrier.

I sighed. “Mom, I work and have two kids and two step-kids and a house to care for.” I tried to make my voice steady and not placating. Will she ever get over my marrying Bob?

“I am your mother. I need you just as much as they do.” Her voice tone gave me pause.

“What’s going on, Mom? You could’ve called if you needed help. I’m only across town.”

“And you could check up on me once in a while…” She almost burst into tears. I could feel it even though her face stayed stoic.

“And I call but you don’t answer. I leave messages on your answering machine. Don’t you listen to them. I tell you when I’m going to be home so we can catch up, and you never reconnect.”

Mother drew up her shoulders as if preparing for a shouting match then went limp. “I don’t remember which button to press. I think it’s broken. I don’t like these new-fangled things.”

I walked closer with my arms opened, hoping she would let me hug her on this visit. “I’m sorry mom. I’ll look at the machine and help you figure it out,”

She almost raced to the sink. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re good at fixing things except your marriage to Bruce.”

 There it was: the truth that Mother had been won over by my first husband’s charming smile and attention. He had preened her feathers with gifts and compliments while he’d locked me in a closet when I wanted to go out with friends. Or thrown dinner plates with food at me when he hadn’t liked what I had prepared. “Bruce was not the man you thought he was,”

“He was good to me!”

“But not to me. When will you realize that he abused me?”

“This current husband is the one who is abusive, Sherrie. You should never have married him. He’s harsh with my grandchildren and you and doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Now wait a minute!” My face reddened. My hands were shaking. “You’re berating him for not continuing to come over here every weekend to do your lawn, fix your washer or stove or whatever. He has a job. He’s refinishing the bedrooms in our home, being with our children. And you never, ever, said thank you.”

Her head drew back as if getting ready to spew some more criticisms.

But I continued. “Besides, Bruce never helped you as much as Bob has. NEVER. You forget that he is narcissistic and that I was the one who did those things until we agreed that you could afford to hire someone,”

“I … don’t … ” her face showed a wrinkled forehead and widened eyes, “remember.”

“True,” I shouted. “You don’t remember a lot of things.” I placed the shopping bags I’d left outside the door on the table. “Here are some special treats. I brought that chicken casserole you like and the chocolate bars.”

“I don’t need food.”

I opened her cupboard door and saw a scant collection of dried cereals and three cans of tomato soup. Then I checked her frig. “No milk, or eggs or bread. When was the last time Emmie took you to the store?”

“I fired her.”

“Why, mom. She was the best.”

“Because I want my daughter to do her duty to me,”

I unpacked the bags and filled some of the empty spaces with more cans of soup and chili, bread and cookies, bananas and apples. I’d made a meatloaf and had frozen slices of it for the freezer so she could take a meal out and reheat it in the microwave. My mind furiously considered her words and her life and my life with my family. She’d pretty much alienated everyone in the family, for sure my sister and brother. I was it.

“That’s not going to work for me. Not when we have to argue every time I get here.”

“Then forget it. I don’t need you. I don’t want you if you can’t respect me.” She closed her arms again across her heart.

I folder the canvas bags slowly.  I knew we’d hit an impasse. “OK then. Here’s what I’ll do.” I walked toward her until my face was near her good ear.

“I’ll check your answering machine later. I’ll send groceries over to you once a week with your basic food needs and I’ll hire someone to check on you every three days so I’ll get a report on whether you’re alive or not. You can tell this person if you have a problem. But I won’t set foot in our house again unless you make the effort to respect me and my life. I’m a good person and a better daughter to you than you were to your own mother,”

I turned away to grab my raincoat and put my feet into my rubber boots,”

“What are you doing splashing water all over my floor and …”

“I’m leaving, mom. I’m leaving to go to my own home where I’m happy and loved.”

I turned. “I do love you. I really do but I won’t be treated as if am an imbecile or an exile or your favorite punching bag,”

Grabbing my bags and my purse and keys, I opened the back door to a refreshing gale of wind and cleansing rain.