A few weeks ago I listened to a story on NPR’s Invisibilia, about Maria Bamford. Listen to it here. She is a comedian, she impersonates her mother, she is hysterical, she makes you think. I wish I was just a tiny bit as funny as she. The story reminded me of my mom. My mom has no filter, and never does she see that what she said is inappropriate, offensive, or hurtful.
There are many reasons I moved 2,000 miles away from her.
When I see her, she never can get through a visit without saying something insulting to me, pointing out something obvious, or just being offensive. For years, every visit, she spewed her thoughts that she didn’t believe I could ever be in a monogamous relationship. Every time I saw her. Through both marriages. For years. Granted, neither marriage lasted, but my fidelity wasn’t one of the many problems.
Several years ago I visited her for five days. This was the first time I had seen since I had gotten a divorce from #2, and since I had been dating women. I had been through a whole lotta shit. That I came through on the other side with a decent disposition, outlook, and relatively happy was impressive. I looked ok, I hadn’t fallen apart, I was fine.
Every night, when I went to bed, I acknowledged to myself that she had held her tongue. It was so nice. Yet, unfamiliar and unsettling. The last day I was there, when saying “goodbye, wonderful to see you, I’ll miss you, I love you…”, she slid in, “Honey, it’s so wonderful to see you. Thank you for visiting. I can tell that you’re happy, and you look really good. Even though you’ve gained weight.”
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! I felt elated, like I had won some great prize! Thank you, Mom. I felt at ease, and like my visit was complete.
I find comfort in knowing that some things never change.