Success

I am the mother I always wanted.

When my 21-year-old daughter “has” to share something with me in order to feel better, it feels like a win. I’m the mother I always wanted.

When I was seventeen, I tried to tell my mom that I needed to break a boy’s heart. Before I could get to the second sentence, she turned away, stared at the wall, and said, “Don’t tell me anything bad. I don’t want to hear it.” She’d finally verbalized what I’d always known: She couldn’t be what I needed her to be.

I told my dad. He said that I would probably need to break many boy’s hearts in my lifetime, and that it was okay. We all had to go through it.

My mom is like a child. People think it’s because she’s almost 79, and dementia is creeping in like a sorority sister after curfew. Dementia is part of it, for sure. She often can’t remember how to open the car door. She speaks to me in Cebuano, a language I lost decades ago. She watches the same dvds day in and day out and laughs like it’s the first time every time. [That will be a pleasant gift of old age - experiencing fun things as if for the first time again...]

But she’s always been like a child: selfish and hyper-emotional. We were supposed to orbit her like lowly planets longing for the warmth of her sun. If we didn't, she threw plates and tantrums.

We never had matching dinnerware.

It’s not like my daughter hasn’t seen me break down. Our family doesn’t hide emotions; we don’t let them fester like boils. My husband and I learned long ago with different spouses that we wanted something different with each other, and that’s what our daughter is used to. We know how she’s feeling because she tells us and has all her life. It’s a relief in a world full of liars and withholding.

All this to say that I recognize my greatest success. I am the mother I always wanted.