My issues with food are something that I come by quite naturally. As with, I think, all families, ours has had it’s own individual operational difficulties. These brought me to food. What makes our operational difficulties so stressful is that individually we see things from very different perspectives and we are a family who express ourselves.
My husband’s family get along really well. They never say, or I believe, even think an unkind thing about one-another. I have never seen them say one negative thing to one another. They do not fight, argue, rant, curse, go on, slam doors, scream, cry or even raise their voices when they spend time together. It is peaceful and wonderful to go there, since we always laugh and have a wonderful visit. Stress free!
My family however – at least immediately – there is this underlying difficulty that has been with us all our lives and this issue stays between us, like a blister between your favorite new shoe and your foot. Even though you love the shoe, the blister is omnipresent, and it just hurts so much that you can’t ignore it. The sad thing in our case is that the blister is the head injury that my poor mom had when she was a child. The injury made her exhibit some unusual and painful behaviors. She was different because of it. Not only was she quite unique but she exhibited very different behaviors in different situations and very different behaviors with different individuals.
Nothing with mom was ever gray as it is with most people. This fine definition was lost to mom. She loved and hated to the extreme. She saw the world in terms of black and white. If you were not mom’s best friend, for example, you were her enemy. If you did not help her, you were probably (in her mind) out to get her. At least, this is how I saw it. Mom loved to garden, fish and spend time with her daddy. Mom was quite a talented musician and song writer. Mom did not like people to disagree with her and she did not have total recall due to this injury, so she had to confabulate perhaps 30% of her life, therefore agreeing with her was not always easy. The fact is, that for me, agreeing with mom was nearly next to impossible! Mom thought people who drink were all suspect to have alcoholism, people who did things that she would not do were malicious and suspect as well. It was hard for her to understand people so she became quite isolated.
The thing about her death is that all of us interpreted mom in our own way – and by all of us I mean everyone she ever met. We loved her; we hated her. We laughed with her; we laughed at her. We cried for her; we cried because of her. We enjoyed time with her; we avoided her. We applauded her talent; despised her lack of understanding. It was not clear cut, how one experienced mom from day to day, month to month, or year to year. Furthering this is that now, after her death, this need of ours to discuss, agree and understand is hurting us; by us I mean those who are close to her.
I believe that the only way we can go on as an intact family is to speak about our mom; but to understand that we will not agree on how things were, and how we saw things. We must, I think, agree to disagree – but more than this we must agree to never disrespect the other’s understanding of how it was. We need to understand, between ourselves that what we say, and how we interpreted the experiences, is not a reflection of the other’s experience.
Frankly, it would be impossible for us to agree on mom, because mom was (if anything) one of the most complex individuals that one could ever meet. The head injury, though, omnipresent, was NOT the sum of the whole. Mom was fiercely intent. Intelligent to the point of genius. Funny to the point of hysterics. Talented, well read, and in pain; her pain was physical, spiritual, and mental pain that could be felt when one took the time to see past her initial warmth. She had a life of suffering but she was not above causing suffering herself. It is this… the suffering that she caused that we cannot come to terms with. This though, her suffering, the suffering that she created, is the thing that we must acknowledge before we can have it go away. So, while I am thankful that mom no longer lives in pain and chaos. Her legacy is the chaos left between us and I am not even remotely thankful for this. I wish that we had the peace that my husband’s family has!
Today, I say to you. That while I may not understand all that is your internalized understanding of time spent with mom, I do respect that it is yours and I do not disagree with you about this it, I only tell you that it is yours and yours alone. For me, the oldest, my thinking on the subject, is also mine, and mine alone.
I wonder if any of my readers have had the experience of living with a loved one who has suffered a head injury or mental illness?
