My Mom

I don’t want to tell my parents how I am feeling because I don’t want to make my mom anymore anxious than she already does. I worry about her. She doesn’t go out in fear of the house being burgled or a fatal event happening in london or our town. She goes to pilates twice a week and lipreading once a week. Struggles with her hearing,  with comprehension and articulating her thoughts. When I talk to her, our conversation concerns our immediate situation.  Food. Weather. What she’s cooking for dinner. What she used to do when she was a kid. Empty topics. I don’t know what to talk about with her because whenever I begin a story, it soon turns to what she has experienced. One sided. Our conversation usually contains her anecdotes that I have heard before, or phrases beginning with”that’s why.” It’s an explanatory discussion. Tries to justify her actions. It feels like I don’t “get” her, or even worse, she doesn’t “get” me

As a daughter I fear I am learning from her. I feel less able to talk about extrapolated topics. Have fun chats. Humorous. Light hearted. She doesn’t understand banter so this simply doesn’t happen in my life unless I’m with friends.

What friends?

I cut them all off.

It’s true. I don’t tell her what happens in my life.



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