My time with mom, no matter how brief (or how long), is a time for me to think about my role as her daughter — successes, failures, unmitigated disasters and the like. This past Sunday, as she yelled at the two women in the pew to move because she is Margarita Ritchie and this is HER pew (move bitches — she did not say that, I inserted that for effect) and threw someone’s purse so she could place her purse down — it’s how us Latina Queens mark our territory and secure our seat in overly crowded church — I felt guilty. Not about the two women.
Please, you better move when my mom comes barreling into the house of our Lord and Savior.
Just kidding. Not really. Please move. You will make my life easier, so fucking move. Now. Or I will devein you in front of the manger. No, I jest. OK. Not really. Move please.
I think about if my role in trying to make her life semi-better…. and the words an old Spanish woman uttered many months ago…… God will reward you with a place in heaven.
God will reward me.
ME? A spot in the kingdom of heaven?
Will it be on his left or right-hand side?
And for what, might I ask? For placing my mom in a nursing home on Mother’s Day?
For walking away from her ever single morning as she screamed and cried for me to take her home?
For that one time…………that one strangely lucid moment when she looked at me through her tears and said, YOU DID THIS TO ME. WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?
For telling her no every single time she wants to buy birdseed?
For not being able to clip her toe nails because, in truth, it grosses ME out.
For not moving home sooner?
For not taking her to Banner Alzheimer’s sooner?
For prolonging my dad’s suffering and leaving him alone with her? Willingly (sometimes eagerly) boarding that flight back to New York, knowing he would not be able to cope………….. the act of a good Catholic girl, no doubt.
For making my former love suffer? Nothing like shacking up with a grotesquely, tragic girl
For making all of my friends suffer along with me? Nothing like making them hear the same story over a dozen times (in a single week).
For hating my mother more than loving her?
For sometimes resenting both my parents never cutting the cord?
A confession: Not even I can sever the rotting cord.
I can’t always say no to my dad and yes, I give my mom dollar bills here and there because they make her happy. She loves money. Boundaries? Ha. The curse of the only child.
My most reckless act, going to Vietnam, caused me so much anxiety becuase……… if something actually happened to me……………………………. they wouldn’t be able to cope without me.
He would be destroyed.
She would never understand.
And I fear a place in heaven will keep me by mother’s side FOREVER — because her ticket is booked. She is destined for heaven….. and if she isn’t, then there really is no God.
ETERNITY with my mom.
Still, I can’t help but laugh at the idea of God surrounded by the demented…………… imagine my mom spitting in heaven. Classic. Better get out your wipes God… and read my one blog about your demented Must Haves.
So, my place in heaven. I don’t know what this woman sees. Her vision is narrow because I’m no saint. I’m a realist and very much into self-preservation. I question the very existence of God. If there is a God, I don’t believe he is of the loving/kind variety — I think he or she is sick. Demented.
I have fallen asleep in church — more than once. How many Hail Mary’s is that one worth?
Talk about a view askew.