I looked up today at this trivet that’s hanging on the wall in Mom’s kitchen, and some things finally came together for me.
It is more than an old decoration on the wall. This has been Carol’s kitchen for 60 years. This is where she provided for us no matter what. No matter how little money we had and how far she had to stretch it. No matter how much her legs hurt or how bad her period was. No matter how much we had pissed her off when we were mouthy teenagers. No matter how afraid she was of the unknown in an era when no one talked about that.
She made it work. A big part of making it work was being in control.
When I first came back home and started helping her out with things, after nearly four decades as a twice-yearly visitor, we found ourselves becoming irritated with one another pretty quickly. Particularly on the day she told me how to heat up some leftovers in the microwave.
“Put a little wee bit of water on it, then put the lid on and heat it for three minutes.”
A look of annoyance flashed over my face. I was thinking, “Holy crap, Mom. I think I can handle heating up some leftovers.”
“O-KAY,” I snapped, not really trying to hide my irritation.
“Don’t screw up your face,” she snapped back. Just like she did when I was 13 and not hiding my irritation.
God, she has to control everything. Now I know where I get it.
Over the next several weeks when she would tell me how to do something (from drying the dishes to choosing which box of cereal to use), I decided it would just be easier to let her tell me. No pissy non-verbals. No short, clipped “gotchas.” Just let her say it, then do it the way she asks. She knows I’m smart and capable. I don’t need to remind her.
This morning she told me to use the open package of paper towels when I replaced the empty roll in the kitchen. So I did. She also asked me for “a favor.” She wanted me to throw a load of clothes into the washer for her. I’ve been trying to do that for her for the last two months. She wouldn’t let me until today.
I came to realize that my presence here is a giant-size reminder to her that she is not-so- gradually losing control of her body and her life. Maybe what she needs most right now are these moments where she is in charge and calling the shots. Maybe the most important thing for me to do right now is just show up. Just be there.
I am learning that I need to earn my mother’s trust in this phase of our lives together. Yes, she trusts me as her oldest child and only daughter. She trusts me to watch her online banking, as she has for a couple of years. But as her mobility decreases and my influence over her day-to-day life increases, she needs to trust that I am sincere and I am not here to upend her or “put her in a home.” As a smart and capable person, I know that you don’t earn someone’s trust by simply saying “trust me.” You definitely don’t earn it by being short with them.
This is Carol’s kitchen. This is Carol’s life. I have to respect that. And I do.
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