The week my mom died was the best week we’ve had at my dad’s house in years
My mom died Monday morning. My dad called me at 5 AM to tell me. I told him I was sorry and that it must have been so hard to watch her pass. Then I hung up and just sat there. No tears. No wave of grief. Nothing.
Visitation is today and the funeral is tomorrow. I still haven’t cried. My sister hasn’t either. We’ve talked about it and neither of us feels guilty about it, which I think says everything about who Mom was. Not to mention we both moved to different states after college.
My mom had end-stage COPD. She was couch-bound and had been slowly dying for years. I have cried a lot of tears over that woman already, but the anticipatory grief I had was about accepting that I never had the mother I needed.
She was a textbook narcissist. The public version of her was charming and warm. Based on the Facebook comments on the obituary post, everyone at visitation today is going to say what a wonderful woman she was and the entire time I’m going to be like “who the fuck are they talking about?”
The last time I visited, my dad asked me to cook a Stouffer’s lasagna. My mom made me come stand in front of her so she could deliver microwave instructions to my face. They were dumb instructions that I followed anyway because it wasn’t worth arguing. She ate four bites and said the meat was overcooked. That same visit, she jumped in my dad’s ass for not saving her a biscuit that had been in the fridge for three weeks. She made him come into the living room to explain himself face to face. She refused when he offered to make a new batch. She didn’t want the problem solved. She wanted to make him feel bad.
One time she asked me if I was still crocheting. I said no. She asked if I’d finished the camo afghan (the one I made for an ex-boyfriend fifteen years ago.) That was her attempt at showing interest in my life. She didn’t ask about my job, my hobbies, or my kid.
Another time my dad, my son, and I went out on the side-by-side to hunt mushrooms. She called my dad on his cell phone and asked him to come. back to the house. Then texted him “hurry.” My mamaw was literally sitting right there at the house with her. All Mom needed was her back rubbed. She couldn’t let him have an hour with his grandson without pulling him back.
My dad was her full-time caretaker. He could leave the house for maybe five hours a week. He is one of the kindest, most patient men on earth and she spent her days barking orders at him from the couch, blaming him for the messy house the (which he couldn’t clean because he was too busy waiting on her hand and foot.) I literally do not know how he put up with her. Years ago they divorced but got remarried, and my sister and I both have said that they should have stayed divorced. I feel like she stifled him and he lost his potential to be a better, warmer, kinder person.
I realized something a couple months ago on a drive home. She was irrelevant. There were no memories being made. She didn’t know me. She was just existing on that couch being mean to my dad, and every time I visited I became someone I didn’t like.
My sister and I both agree that this week has been the best visit to our dad’s house in years. And it’s 100% because she’s gone. We went to a tavern last night and ate dinner and played pool. We helped dad with funeral and financial and legal logistics. We went through her clothes and jewelry, and organized the kitchen. It finally feels like we’re allowed to be here and interact with stuff that we never could have touched before without her yelling from the couch asking what we were doing.
I don’t feel guilty. Over the last 5 years I’ve done a lot of work on myself. I got sober, went to therapy, got medicated, and built a life she couldn’t even ask about because she never knew the first fucking thing about who I became.