I’ve been getting a lot of messages about dealing with your unfinished business, especially from Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.
In writing group for Monday, November 21
In my journal for 1986 I wrote about being home after my father died and his funeral. Mother was drunk that night, and I was very angry with her. She said something like “I want comfort and I ain’t gettin’ it.” I didn’t even try to reply. But the next night, for some reason, I treated her very kindly, like I would treat someone that I loved who was senile. The next morning I came down and found a sober Mom. “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to be all right.” I said “O good, Mom. What did you decide?” I was hoping to hear her explicitly say she was going to stop drinking. But she didn’t. She just said something like “I didn’t think it was worth going on, but now I’m going to be OK.” I said “good for you.” What I didn’t see until much much later, was that her willingness to stop drinking might have been connected to my kindness the night before. Maybe because my other efforts had never made any difference? I remember thinking that without some structure and support, like AA provides, she probably wouldn’t be able to stay sober. But looking back, I wish I had decided to be kinder. I remember we went to dinner with some of her friends and when they asked what she wanted to drink she said “Water on the rocks.” I wanted to cheer, but of course didn’t. But I might have told her afterward that I was proud of her.
Years later she had a stroke. I went to visit her and there was a speech therapist trying to help her speak again. She would say a sentence like “I went to the grocery store and bought —” and asked Mom to fill in the blank. Poor Mom seemed to think there was a right answer, didn’t understand that she could just say anything at all. She also was very reluctant to try walking. I was disgusted with her unwillingness to make any effort. Now that I’m older myself I have more understanding and compassion for not being able to find the energy to make the effort.
The last time I saw her she was in a nursing home. I was in Cincinnati for several days and went by in the morning on my way to the airport. But she wouldn’t wake up to say goodbye to me. I’m thinking “this could be the last time she’ll ever see me, and she won’t wake up.” Then the nurse came in, and Mother woke up for the nurse. I decided that if she couldn’t be bothered to wake up for me, I wouldn’t make the effort to see her again. And I didn’t. The next time I went to Cincinnati was for her funeral.
But now I wonder if it would have been a good thing if I had gone home without expectation and just sat with her.
What I actually wrote in my journal was:
I did much better with her this evening. I realize that last night I was really angry and disappointed that she was drunk and I got very cold and abrupt and fast and efficient. No wonder she was so nasty and complained of not getting any comfort. So tonight I just jollied her along like a problem child. [Actually I felt like someone with a parent they had loved, but who was being destroyed by senility.]
July 29 Tuesday morning: Sober Mom
[I went down to breakfast and was greeted by:]
A normal person: I’ve made a few decisions. I’m going to be all right. For a little while it didn’t seem to matter but now I’m going to be OK.
I said O good ma (teary)
What decisions did you make? [I wanted to hear her say explicitly that she was going to stop drinking.]
Mom: I don’t know, I just woke up in the middle of the night and decided it was worthwhile.
That horrible person won’t be around any more
Me: that makes me very happy.
[I didn’t write again for a whole month.]
I read this to my therapist, and told her that I had recognized that I actually hated Mom. She said that was a result of unexpressed hurt and grief. She gave me some suggestions for writing what I would say to Mom about being hurt, what Mom would say to me. She also said that the younger me wouldn’t have been able to go back again without expectation. She was absolutely right. I couldn’t possibly have gone home with no expectation.