Friday, August 8, 2008
I used to think I could fix my parents--especially my mom. I bought new curtains and rods and then hung them for her. Dad liked the old ones better.
I wall-papered the kitchen with paper she chose and loved. It had olive green and orange on a creamy-white background. We papered one wall and she wanted Dad to repaint the remaining blue walls a matching green or cream. It took years.
I cleaned the basement and the attic, and then we went together and hauled the garbage to the dump--it stunk so badly and there were piles of silt everywhere. The man on the earthmover yelled at us that we put the stuff in the wrong spot. I hollered back, "How could we tell?""
I took her shopping--giving her money to buy something nice. She bought several cheap things instead.
I cooked special meals for them. She loved everything. He complained to my siblings about the weird food I always made.
It did get better after we had children. Dad was always good with babies and toddlers--until they had opinions. Then, he would make back-biting comments about the particular grandchild to the non-parent siblings. You always knew he did the same about you and yours. Mom loved unconditionally and prayed for us all daily. She might have been mentally ill for most of my life, but God changed lives because of her prayers.
We come to the realization that we cannot fix them... And, so we let go.
While it would be cathartic if we could ventilate our anger to these people, doing so would likely not be in our best interest.