Happy Mother's Day!

Calling all MOMs! Happy Mother's Day!

I'm on good terms with my mom right now. She really came through for me this past week. My dad did too. Bless all of you. Do me a favor? Could you say a special prayer for Miss Belle and Master Walt? They both have big weeks coming up and could use all the help they could get.

Promotions and Teasers

Lately, it has been really hard for me to post. Why? It's hard writing about my life as a "windfall woman" who keeps working out of fear, who suffers from bouts of depression and migraines, has a love/hate relationship with mama, a love relationship with daddy, finds anonymous ways to donate to deserving people and flits off on anonymous vacations to unspecified places.

Shouldn't I be brimming over with exciting stories? Exotic travel? Spending sprees? Or could it be that I led a lonely and boring life? Or that life without a mate or children isn't really rich? That spending one's life worrying about losing material things really isn't much of a life at all?

More to come.

P.S. I was promoted on Tuesday. I now have a title I've coveted for several years and a hefty salary increase. Imagine that. The good luck continues.

Update on My Mom and Cancer

You may wonder where I've been. My mom had surgery early on Friday morning. I spent the night with her that night. I went back on Saturday night, and then Sunday afternoon. I went late yesterday evening too. I was there at 8:30 am this morning until she was discharged at 1pm. I got her settled at home and was at home by 3pm. I caught a cold from the air conditioning blowing on me at the hospital. She is doing great. They got all the cancer. The worst part was when they rolled her away to surgery. I hated waiting. I was so scared waiting for her to come back from recovery. (I wasn't cut out to be a nurse in case you haven't noticed.) They brought her back, and she was very pale. Her skin was waxy. I held her hand a very very long time. I told her I loved her. She told me that she loved me more than anyone in the world. I couldn't say it back. I felt so guilty. I couldn't lie. I'm sure she didn't notice because of all the drugs. I could only say I love you. That just has to be enough now.

Cancer and The Vacation that Might Have Been

My mother had minor surgery a week ago. Her doctor routinely sent off samples to be tested. He thought everything was fine. After the surgery, I was crazily preparing for vacation and headed to visit my dad. You can't know how much I was looking forward to spending some time with him and relaxing. I just had arrived at his house when I get a call from my mom. Her doctor had called her to come in and discuss her test results saying he "needed to do more." I knew I had to go home to take her to the appointment. I felt so disappointed. I had been looking forward to seeing my daddy for months. I had been looking forward to relaxing for months. How could I feel like this? So selfish? My mother needed me, and I was thinking of myself. At any rate, I left yesterday and showed up at her door in place of my aunt, and she was so pleased to see me. The doctor got right to the point. "The tests show you have Stage 1 cancer. You need more surgery. I've taken the liberty of arranging it all with the best oncologist, the operating room and myself." My mother's face had barely changed with the news. She wasn't expecting it.

Somewhere in all this, she told me that she had told her doctor (he's mine too - I referred her) that she couldn't believe I had gone off and left her. By the way, she was fine when I left. SIGH. This is a regular pattern with my mom. She yaps to everyone that I don't really love her or that she can't believe that I've done this or that. And this time? I don't think she has a clue of all the things I gave up to go home. And maybe I wouldn't feel this way if she appreciated me. It's embarrassing getting "dissed" to everyone. More than anything, it just hurts. And why do I even care?

Anyhow, I took her out to dinner afterwards. She didn't eat much. I didn't eat much either. My food stuck in my throat, and I fought an anxiety attack. I'm not sure how I feel today, but I know one thing. I don't feel like myself. Not one bit.

A small dinner party

Amazingly, my mother hosted a small dinner party last night. The food was really good! I was almost a little surprised -- not because she's not a cook - just that she's out of practice. I sent into the kitchen "behind the scenes." Bless her heart; she has pots and pans that I remember as a child. I'm debating buying her a new set, but I wonder if she holds onto those things somehow clinging to the past. It really was a lovely dinner. My mother is full of surprises.

Something sweet

Ever find out something really sweet? Quite by accident, I found out that my mother still says a blessing before every meal. Most of you won't find that unusual. In my world, people seem to have lost the habit of thanking God for their nourishment. It turns out my mother has not. In fact, her exact words were, "Thank you God for my Sugar Pops for breakfast."

She said I don't want a daughter like..........

you. That's right. I was all comfy and cozy albeit drippy when the phone rang. I almost didn't answer it. But it was her. My mother. She asked me the prefunctory how are you? I said I'm sick. I don't feel well. She skimmed over it. She went on to talk about herself as usual. Then she launched into diatribes over my daddy again. Keep in mind they've been divorced at least 21 years. I told her that I don't want to hear about my daddy anymore. She said I'm not going to be censored. I said fine, just don't talk to me about my dad. Not much later she said it. I've always known it, but she had never said it before. "I don't want a daughter like you." I didn't have to take it. So I quietly hung up. I didn't wallow in sadness. I turned on Jerry Springer - a show I NEVER watch - and somehow watched an episode called "1 Truckstop Ho." It was pitiful. I think I watched it because I saw something more pitiful. I needed that. I ate a scrambled egg sandwich for lunch not remembering that it was something my mother used to make me when I was sick. I think she loved me some. I think she loved me at one time. She just spoke the truth. She never wanted a daughter like me.

Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

I will never be able to give you this letter, but it is in my heart and I need to express myself.

I'm sorry I'm not a better daughter. I'm sorry I've disappointed you all of my life. I'm sorry I feel guilty even writing this letter that you will never see. I'm so sorry that you don't want to give or receive any presents this year. I'm sorry that you are angry that my dad is coming to see me for Christmas, and that in spite of being divorced for many years, you cannot seem to let go of the hatred and bitterness you feel about it. I am sorry that you cannot allow me the peace to pursue my relationship with my father that is so essential to me. I love both of my parents, but with you, I have to work a little harder. I can't imagine what it must be like to have a daughter like me - your same gender - and for us not to be closer than we are. I'm sorry that you don't understand why I cry easily - at movies and commercials and just in general when I am touched. I'm sorry you sit in your house and don't make friends or do some sort of service work or go to the ballet with me when I have tickets. I'm sorry that you have periods where you say the most hateful things to me, and I just absorb it. I'm sorry that you feel your childhood was overshadowed by your sisters. I am sorry that you are prejuidiced and cannot get past it nor can you understand why I believe we are all His children. I'm sorry that you cannot accept nor give love when it is truly given. I'm sorry that I don't understand you or what makes you happy. I wish I could help you. I wish I could make life wonderful for you. Unfortunately, my "windfall" does not have that particular brand of magic. I can only continue to pray for you and hope that in some way, with someone or something, you find happiness and peace. Because we all deserve it. Merry Christmas Mama.