she's not so bad when she's asleep*

On Saturday I spent four or five hours sitting w Mom at the hospital. At the time it didn't seem like anything special, but in retrospect it was probably the closest to a mother-daughter moment that we've ever managed. I propped her up with pillows, tucked in the blankets, helped lift her feet up and down from the bed, filled up her water—you know, the stuff you do for someone who's in the hospital.

I felt really good. I felt like I was finally proving to my Mom that I could be a good daughter and make her happy.

The next day she came home and we resumed our usual relationship. I was bitterly disappointed, although in retrospect—and especially putting it down in writing—I can see how unrealistic it was to hope that anything would change.

Loopy as usual was here to say, over & over, "it's not about you." Right. If it were about me, then doing something nice for her would make a difference, but it's not, so it doesn't. She doesn't like, see, or bond with anybody. It's not personal. Right. Got it.

So is there any way to stop wanting your mother to like you?

And Rie as usual was also here with this little gem of inspiration: "Well, you see that? All you have to do is keep her heavily sedated & you'll get along fine."

Thanks babe. I needed that. And the twenty-five pounds of Thai food. All good. We'll get through this.

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*My Dad used to say this about me jokingly (and yes, I knew it was a joke, it didn't scar me for life. He said it when someone praised me and he didn't know how to respond, but I knew it meant he was happy and proud).