What Goes Around . . . Returns

Today’s post is a disclosure—of truth, aging, confronting past and present.

Had a blow-up with Mom.  

At 90, she’s forgetful, but not from Alzheimer’s, so I believe (hope).  While talking about forgetfulness (something she’s adamant she doesn’t experience), she declared that she knows I “tell” her things and lie all the time. 

I can be many things, but one thing I’ve never been, nor ever will be: a liar.  Honesty is something I hold dear.

Long story short, I was hurt and angry, so much so I told her I didn’t think I could live with her anymore.  And, you know?  Right now, I truly don’t believe I can. 

We’ve lived together 20 years.  The last few, I’ve been watching over her, ensuring meds are taken, she has company (me), DVDs are ones she likes.  I’ve given up friends and a social life, am in debt to take her on vacations. 

I desire to be a good Christian, a caring person, to do what's correct.  Right now, though, I’m considering the irony . . . given the woman was an ugly alcoholic during my childhood and youth.  Imagine spending the first 18 years of your life walking on eggshells, fighting sadness and stress, waiting to be blamed [yet again] for things that have gone wrong because the booze has altered perception.  (Yes, I know: I don’t stand alone.  Others experience the same, or worse, and my heart goes out to them.)

I have no desire to speak ill of my mother: she was what she was and she is who she is. 

Happiness has eluded me most of my life, I hesitantly confess (as I’m not one to share personal secrets).  As I undergo another “eye-opening” episode, I can’t help but wonder if it will ever be experienced.

Faith is important.  Trusting God is imperative.  Today—dear, dear God—I’m not [most regrettably] feeling either.

. . . Thankfully, there’s always tomorrow . . .  

God Bless you all.