In the last couple of years, (since I have had kids of my own, really) I have often wondered, what happened to my mom… It seems as if I am the only one of my siblings who is worried, but I am serious. There is something wrong with my mother.
When I was growing up, my mom was this strict, no nonsense woman. You didn’t back talk her. She didn’t curse and she was always proper. Don’t get me wrong, my mom was great. Awesome, in fact. She still is all of those things, but something isn’t quite right. It’s off…
We went shopping and had lunch out as kids. Okay, we still do that as adults, but I am telling you, there is something wrong with my mom. I have even thought about taking her to the doctor. But after my own doctor laughed for ten minutes straight in my face- after I mentioned to him my concern- I decided against it, for now. But that doesn’t mean I think there isn’t anything wrong with my mother. It just means I am rethinking my approach to this. Because it is a HUGE problem and I am highly concerned about my mom.
Take for example, a younger me, maybe about 6 or 7 years old… I remember it, like it was yesterday (and honestly, it wasn’t THAT long ago). It was a summer evening and it was dinner time. My dad had promised us that we would go for ice cream at Carl’s (if you have never been there, you MUST go. I mean, it is worth a flight around the world and a hour drive from the airport to have Carl’s. I lie to you not.) after dinner and then we would all go swimming in the dark. (We had a pool in the backyard, but night time swimming was a rare and extremely special treat.) But, I am getting off track. It was dinner time. I can’t tell you everything we had for dinner, but I can tell you spinach went with it. I am not now, nor have I ever been Popeye. I hate spinach. I dislike it so much that I don’t even want to walk by it in the grocery store. It can’t even be described as a love-hate relationship. It is a relationship of pure hate, disgust and any other word you can think of that means to care not in a strong way. Yep. That’s me and spinach. But there it was; spinach on my plate. In my little mind, I thought that certainly it was a mistake that it had ended up on MY plate. It had to be. My mom knew then and knows now about my relationship with spinach. I remember eating everything around the spinach. After which, I was ready to go. I hopped up from the table, ready to go get some ice cream, when I heard my mother’s voice… “Kimberly, come back and finish your dinner.” I walked slowly back into the kitchen, where my mom sat and with what I can only imagine was a solemn and innocent look, I must have said something along the lines of, “I did”. Maybe I said it in a cheeky way (okay, I probably did, because cheeky should have been my name), but next thing I know, I was sitting at the table while my dad, sister and brother went to Carl’s. Surely, they would be bringing me something back, right? Nope. Not at all. When they came back home those goody two shoes got to go swimming in the dark. And where was I? Still sitting at the kitchen table with a now cold plate of spinach for company. If memory serves me correctly, I fell asleep at that table- with the spinach sitting right there. Eventually, my mom came in and told me to go to bed. I think I was so relieved that I wouldn’t be forced to deal with that spinach anymore that I wasn’t even hurt about missing Carl’s or night time swimming anymore. When I woke up the next morning, my mom was fixing pancakes and other delicious breakfast foods. Yum. But when it was time to eat, you know what she put in front of me? That darn plate of spinach!!!! She seriously wanted me to eat the spinach and I seriously was not going to. It was a game of wills, that I am sure starvation would have made me lose- if fate (well, my dad, really) hadn’t intervened.
Now take my own daughter and my mother. It’s dinner time. My daughter comes to the table. “Momma J (that’s what she calls my mom, who refuses to be a grandmother- 4 grand kids in and 1 great grand) I don’t like this.” says that girl of mine. Oh boy, I think to myself. Here it comes. She is finally going to know what I mean when I say things like you have no idea how good you have it compared to when I was your age. My mom is going to lay into her. A part of me is a bit excited. I want to see my mom in action and not against me (for once). My mom opens her mouth. I sit at the edge of my seat. My eyes frantically move between my child and my mother. My dear child is going to get knocked out (completely figuratively) of her chair. She will not know what hit her. “Oh you don’t like this? Well, what would you like to eat then, my dear?” I am the one who has been knocked into the floor. Is she serious? Has this really just happened? I have to rub my eyes in disbelief, as I hear my daughter name some food or another and then watch my mom fix the requested food item.
And this is when I began to realize that there was something wrong with my mother. There had to be. Maybe aliens have taken her captive and this is a replacement figure head. Maybe these are the early stages of senility. A trip to the doctor is definitely in order.
To further complicate matters, my mother now issues threats of punishments to come and yet they are NEVER fulfilled. Who is this woman? What has happened to my mom? This is truly a horrible thing. Clearly, my mother has lost or is loosing her mind. Like I said earlier, as of right now, I am the only one who sees this. So, maybe, there is more convincing to do…
Another story then. As you already know, swimming was a major part of our lives. We, my whole family, were born fish (possibly in another life, perhaps). The corner of our back deck extended just so over the pool and we found great excitement and thrill climbing to the top railing of said deck and plummeting to the pool below. My father tried it. My sister tried it. My brother tried it. My friends tried it. Everyone tried it. Again and again. Everyone, that is, except my mom. She said she was to old to be breaking bones pulling stunts like that. No one ever said anything, because she was a nurse and the sensible care taker and she was probably right, after all. Now fast forward to present day. Thanksgiving to be exact…
This is my mother. And yes. She is riding a Hover board. I am definitely, extremely concerned. I do not know what happened to my mom. She must be overcome with some illness that has yet to be discovered- or something.
The truth is, my mom is just living life and she is enjoying every moment of it. But, in truth, there is a huge difference between the woman that raised me and the woman I have come to know now, as an adult. I can only hope to be as vibrant and fun as my mom when I am a grown up.
So, am I the only one who knows there is something wrong with my mom? I’m not. Am I? Please help me with this. I know there are others out there. We must band together. Let’s start here. Share your stories of discovering the ugly truth about your mom or dad’s ‘sickness’. I would love to hear them!