Bulbous

Avoid toxic people to max your happiness.

Simple enough, right? But what do you do when one toxic person is your mother?

My mother is one of the most negative people I've ever met. But she doesn't know it. It runs in her veins. I remember, growing up, it seemed that her favorite word was "worried". In my 20's I really resented her liberal use of the word. It made me cringe. It made me angry because, surely, if I was living up to her expectations, she wouldn't be constantly worried about me, right?

I know what you're thinking: all mothers worry. Perhaps so. But I'll bet all of them do not manifest their negative thoughts to such an extent and in such a suffocating manner.

In time I understood that she practically worried about everyone and every scenario. All the time.

In time I thought I'd accepted and gotten over it.

Tonight, after three crazy busy weeks, I finally had all my recent photographs catalogued and sorted. Happily, I sent to my parents a bunch of highlights from my trip to TX where I visited my Aunt Lynn, my mother's baby sister. Having been to art school, I am marginally snobbish and take photography very seriously, starting long before the age of point-and-shoot, cell phones, and digital filters. Only the crème de la crème gets posted and shared.

I gleefully and thoughtfully supplied witty and informative caption that passes as delightful anecdote. Maybe Mom will be proud of me now. (I didn't know I was thinking this.)

Aunt Lynn and Uncle Vinton are childless. Aunt Lynn had surgery in her twenties, a known fact to me since I was quite young. They had considered adoption but ultimately decided against it. This was also a known fact to me.

In recent years I've readdressed the mystery procedure that my aunt underwent with my mother in the name of gaining knowledge of my family medical history, but by then my mother couldn't remember what exactly it was.

During my stay with Aunt Lynn, we shared many candid memories which were at times raw and refreshing - a kind of openness I seldom experienced with my own mother. Lynn told stories of people I have never met. The tales often ended with, or were prefaced with "s/he's dead now. Cancer. What kind of cancer?..." as she would reminisce. It was a hoot. I loved that the subject of death was not taboo with her.

One evening, while Lynn was doing the dishes in the kitchen, I approached her mid-conversation, put my arm around her shoulders and asked, "So what exactly was it you had that [rendered you unable to bear children]?"

It is not as callous as it sounds. Only the day before she herself brought up the fact that she'd had a hysterectomy at the behest of her doctor.

Turned out it was only fibroids. "But I was bleeding heavily all the time," Aunt Lynn explained. "It's totally treatable nowadays. But at the time, my doctor ran the scare tactic route." She asked, 'Would you rather bleed to death?'"

We agreed that doctors can be so surgery happy. Then and now.

When I was little, I thought it was weird and sad that someone who was married didn't have children. Look at me now, decidedly childless and having a ton to say about it.

So on this night as I painted an idyllic picture of Lynn's home for my mother, I made a point to mention that she had a good support system - she's surrounded by friends and kind neighbors. During Hurricane Harvey, she opened her home for neighbors to stay the night while their houses risked getting flooded, until danger neared her very spot too and they all had to flee. She rode in a roofless vehicle for hours to safety. Talk about bonding with otherwise relative strangers!

The neighbors have rebuilt and moved back. And my aunt and uncle thankfully suffered only minor damage.

And what did my mother say? "Too hot! Fire ants. And too far from family. I fear for her in her old age. I am extremely worried."

As soon as I read the word "worried", I blew up. A storm that I didn't know had been brewing in me welled up in a fury.

In my culture, you don't challenge your parents. You don't lecture them.

But I had had it with the negativity. I couldn't not say something. Enough is enough!

I wasn't mean about it. That would be throwing stones in a glass house.

I did mention that her comments were negative. What I wanted to say was 99.9% of the time the things coming out of her mouth are negative. But I didn't.

I stressed that life is never perfect, no such thing as a safe haven, and that we could just try our best in living a happy life, cherishing what we have and living in the moment. You know, things that I've probably said to her 80 times.

And I was angry. I was angry and I didn't know why. And I hate when I don't understand my disproportionate emotional reaction since I am always psychoanalyzing myself.

Perhaps in identifying triggers of certain behavior I thought I could have control over my emotions.

Oh, the need for control. My mother has had this savior complex such that she feels responsible for everyone's well-being. Don't you see that none of us has control over life? Life is absurd and random.

She worries about her grandsons who have special needs. I have told her so many times worry doesn't do a thing. It doesn't help. I want to tell her: You'll be dead! Whatever happens, you won't know! I'll be dead. I won't know. It is okay to let go. You don't have to be charge.

My mother recently went to her father's grave as a semiannual/annual ritual to pay respects, pull weeds and clean up. It is very labor intensive in her culture (I won't say "our" culture because I think it's fucking ridiculous, this "tradition".) To bury a dead loved one in an elaborate grave with delicate marble that requires waxing and polishing that is more than the size of a king size bed - sorry, that is excessive and pointless. Cremation and an urn - much more practical. Why would you want to burden generations to come?

My parents were both exhausted after this trip, both physically and emotionally, my mother more so with the latter.

"Who is going to take care of my father's grave when we are no longer able?" She laments.

While I appreciate that she has every right as a filially pious daughter to be concerned, what a loaded question. Well, probably nobody is going to. I am not going to lie. What do you want me to say?

RJ and I have been planning a trip to see his grandkids. Some people have kids in their 20's. Go figure. We are 3,000 miles apart, 4 states amongst us. So logistically it can feel impossible.

I feel very adamant that RJ should be involved in his grandchildren's lives from early on. He's already missed out on so much. It pains me that he is not more proactive about making it happen.

"I didn't have either grandpa growing up," I have explained. "You have a choice."

With weeks turning into months (if you don't count the past two years or so of inertia) I grow more restless. His sons don't seem to be making much of an effort.

Normally I am plenty laid back. I don't want to stick my nose. It's his kids, his grandkids. Why am I so upset?

When I am upset and I don't know why I am upset, it bothers me.

Just when I thought Memorial Day weekend was going to be it - and it would be harrowing for me somewhat as I cannot take too much time off work, it was starting to sound like it wasn't all coming together.

"That's it," I said to RJ. "I give up."

RJ makes a sad face. "Don't give up," he said.

My voice catching, I said, "I already have."

I spent a long time in the shower wondering why I felt like my feelings had been hurt, why I felt like a fool.

Can't tell ya but I bet it has to do with wanting to be in control and failing. Maybe I thought if I could "fix" this RJ situation with the offsprings (his youngest would not feel he's missed anything if he never saw RJ again, IMHO), my own life would be less broken.

Maybe when I was "yelling" at my mother this evening I was really yelling at myself and my stupid futile effort to be... what? Free? Complete? Free of what? Pain? And guilt?

Is it still about trying to make my mother happy? Good God. Of course I am never going to make her happy. She's never happy. Not in the true sense of having peace and self-awareness and the objectivity and logic and spirituality that it takes. Never.

She's replied since. The LED is blinking on my phone. I don't want to read it. Toxic. Avoid toxic.

Earlier, RJ noted that I was not in a happy place. He peeked in the study a couple of times to check on me. I assured him that I'd be better. Blogging always helps.

When the braciole he made was ready, he presented it in a way that he always does as he'd invite me to partake.

And so I did. And it was wonderful. RJ's cooking is magic. It is so much more than food. It can be transformative. (RJ has a calming effect on me anyhow. The opposite of my family.)

The demons are still there. Nothing has gotten resolved. Yet I am okay. In that moment, I was happy. Happy to be sharing a bite with my man, happy to just be. Simple as that. And pure. And I didn't care about the rest of the world, or tomorrow, or earlier.

Live in the moment. Not much more we can do beyond.