My mother was my worst enemy throughout almost her whole life.
That changed in the 4 months before she died.
Grateful as I am to have had even that short time, without fights or resentment, I do regret the tragedy in having less than 6 months to enjoy her company.
Her quirks:
She hated hugs.
I never understood why, because at the time I didn't know why. She was never diagnosed with Autism because she was clever enough to stay away from Doctors.
Anyway, she never initiated hugs, but when I gave her one she stiffened. It was like hugging the shoulders of a dog in defense mode, about to pounce if pushed.
She never smiled.
I say 'never' because mostly, she never did. Something had to be oddly hilarious for her to laugh out loud. Something quirky.
Zombie-ism
I never forget her (seemingly) watch coldly, and at a distance, me being pinned up by my throat with the one hand of an aggressive partner (at that time).
I stared into her eyes, begging silently for help. I was enraged that I never got it.
She looked like a woman watching a movie. Zero expression. Blank... I presumed she was heartless.
As she got to her death-age of 75, she had mellowed to the stage where we almost got on.
Almost, because we never sat down and had a relaxing chat.
But at least we (hardly) ever fought.
That has to be worth something.
That changed in the 4 months before she died.
Grateful as I am to have had even that short time, without fights or resentment, I do regret the tragedy in having less than 6 months to enjoy her company.
Her quirks:
She hated hugs.
I never understood why, because at the time I didn't know why. She was never diagnosed with Autism because she was clever enough to stay away from Doctors.
Anyway, she never initiated hugs, but when I gave her one she stiffened. It was like hugging the shoulders of a dog in defense mode, about to pounce if pushed.
She never smiled.
I say 'never' because mostly, she never did. Something had to be oddly hilarious for her to laugh out loud. Something quirky.
Zombie-ism
I never forget her (seemingly) watch coldly, and at a distance, me being pinned up by my throat with the one hand of an aggressive partner (at that time).
I stared into her eyes, begging silently for help. I was enraged that I never got it.
She looked like a woman watching a movie. Zero expression. Blank... I presumed she was heartless.
As she got to her death-age of 75, she had mellowed to the stage where we almost got on.
Almost, because we never sat down and had a relaxing chat.
But at least we (hardly) ever fought.
That has to be worth something.
