With the sudden, unexpected loss of my mother’s partner in the early hours of this morning, I have been forced to step back and reconsider the frailty of life. Even with the occasional tension between the two of us (perhaps for the competition for my mother’s attentions) and my distaste for some of his mannerisms, he took wonderful care of my mother over their too-short chapter. He was a good man.
I had just seen him on Monday. Apart from the normal ailments of a man in his 60’s (and even lesser, given his rigorously physical work-life) and those of a smoking man whom would have benefited from a healthier lifestyle (that my mother tried to give to him), he had no complaints. I suppose what I mean to say is, even with the cigarettes and lackluster food-choices, he showed no overt signs of heart disease or extraordinary issues with his lungs (for instance, like my own father’s emphysema).
And yet still
last night he closed his eyes
and this morning he was no longer;
Loss started, for me, with the death of my mother’s mother in 2007. It wasn’t exactly sudden, although I took it very hard. She was only 61 and, apart from her Emphysema, extremely healthy. I will always remember the click and whir sound her breathing apparatus made as she struggled for breath in bed over her last days. She wasn’t even a smoker.
We were always like two peas in a pod. Referring to the interests we shared, my mother always said, “It skips a generation.” It was true – my mother never took any interest in our hobbies. She sewed, crocheted, beaded, and knitted among other activities – all which she passed on to me. My Nana was always so proud to show me off to her stitch-n’-bitch groups. She had also participated in the WAF program which made her one of the first active-duty women in the US Air Force…
For a while I have understood that I am in a codependent relationship. Perhaps to begin to work on my issues (or, even, distance myself from them), I have been reading material about similar situations, what they mean, why they happen, and their consequences.
My research has brought to light many things I didn’t know – or, perhaps, I did know, but I convinced myself that I didn’t (in order not to suffer them so profoundly). There are the normal concepts – fear of abandonment (both of being abandoned as well as abandoning my partner that is hurting), the feeling that I’ve held on so long that if I just wait a little longer it will all get so much better and have all been so worth it, letting myself be convinced that I deserve the treatment I’m receiving because he’s having a bad day (everyday), fixing all of his mistakes because he doesn’t care about consequences, and letting myself be controlled by the fear of what he’ll do and the mistakes he’ll make if I ever truly leave…
But what I wasn’t considering,
was the fact
that I have boundaries.
At what point do you admit that if it’s you against the world that you must be wrong about something? If you are constantly angry, if you constantly feel slighted, if every day is a fight – at what point do you stop to think:
I must be
about something —
For every four days of fighting, you have two of apologies and one that really doesn’t seem so bad. Then the final night passes, and it all starts again from the beginning like a broken record that keeps spinning the same lilting melody. Your life becomes this daunting, unfulfilling thing, and you can’t help but to wonder why?