It had been close to 2-3 weeks since I last spoke with my mother. Saturday after errands but before going into the house, I gave a call, and miracle of MIRACLES, she picked up. There isn't much to be said anymore. No new dramas in either of our lives, and certainly nothing is new going on in her life. Unless someone calls or visits her, or unless there's a new health drama, there is absolutely nothing going on in her life.
And there's not much going on in my life that I'd care to share with her (or the rest of the family, as she'd no doubt inform everyone of whatever is going on with me, as if anyone gives a shit). Nearly ten minutes elapsed, and before I knew it, my husband was approaching my car, to assist with bringing in groceries, and I was off the phone. Nothing of any real substance shared; however, she did let me know that there was an elaborate, formal party for my uncle's 50th birthday--the uncle who is two years older than I am, the uncle who was foisted upon me and my siblings like a bastard older brother we never had. And everyone was invited. Everyone, that is, except for ME.
At some point in the weekend, I zapped my aunt a photo of me in a killer red dress I got on sale, which was met with, "Nice." Full stop. Nothing follows.
Yesterday, I zapped my brother a text wishing him a happy father's day, which was met with, "Thank you." Full stop. Nothing follows.
The more time elapses, the more it seems the decision will be made for me, to abstain from my mother's funeral, whenever that day comes.
Considering making the thankless trip down there for a visit, "Paratrooper Style," hopefully with my husband in tow, to ensure a rapid release. Exhausting to think about, that 5 hour drive to/from the Jersey Shore on a Saturday. Miserable drive. If I go or don't go, the results are the same: Misery. If I go, I usually regret it; and if I don't go, I feel like a shit-heel.
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