In Other News

Last night I made my weekly call to my mom. I'd call more frequently, but there's nothing really to talk about. That aside...

Everything was pleasant enough, and then she blindsided me with the Whopper of All Whoppers: "What kind of mother was I?" I replied, "How am I supposed to answer that?" She said, "Honestly, I can handle it." And I paused while I collected my thoughts, and I leaned into my need to be honest rather than "be nice" and perpetuate any delusions she may have, as I am convinced we all possess the ability to know how good or how horrible each of us truly is. 

"You were a difficult person to love." 
(Pause)
"However, to your credit, at your best you were perversely dark, twisted, hilarious, too."  

I call this type of response, giving the bad first, and the good last as the "Ol' Slap and Tickle." 

She seemed to handle it well enough. The conversation then veered to this coming weekend, when she turns 70. She's downright shocked she's reached such an age, and no doubt, she's keenly aware that she won't live forever. At her worst she was horrible and abusive, but now, I see her as mostly de-fanged, a human, fragile, and in need of validation. However, I am also keenly aware of the potential for things to go sideways at any point in time, so I am still guarded.

She let me know a hairdresser is coming to the house, and she's going to go blonde. This is a huge deal. Because in the last six years (since dad's been gone), she's not given too much care to her appearance. Getting her hair colored and "done," no doubt, will boost her. And of course, the timing is such, it's obvious, she's getting ready for the party on Sunday, so I dared to ask THE question.

"So is anyone coming by for your birthday?" And she downplayed it, but the more she talked, the more it was apparent there was a party going on. And everyone invited was, I suppose, sworn to secrecy. "You know, you are more than welcome here, anytime you wish." And I said that I was aware of that. "Are you coming?" And I said, "I wasn't invited by the person throwing the party. And even if I were, I won't." And she asked why, and I said, "To be honest, I am not physically up to it--the drive--the party--the crowd--and more importantly, I don't want whatever this weirdness with my sister to ruin your day. I can come visit another day, and it'll be just you and I."  This seemed to placate her. We chatted a bit more and concluded the call. 

We are now two months, one week, and two days into The Great Silence with my sister. Today, I have no further words on this.