Caring for a Mother Who Never Cared for Me

When I was a child, my mother never told me she loved me. A few years back, when she saw how alone she had become, she began saying she loved me in a whiny voice that pleaded to me to say the same back to her.

I have never had a good time with her. No spontaneous hugs. No silliness. No belly laughs. No connection. Everything has always been about her. She doesn't even know what I do for a living, though I've told her hundreds of times.

During my childhood and young adulthood, her distance and disconnection upset me. But once I came to grips with who she was and what she would never be, I eased into a relationship of duty. Sending her greeting cards and flowers to cheer her. Visiting twice a year. Calling several times a week. Somehow it's much easier to know that she will never know anything about me, and by knowing this, I can give up vying for emotional intimacy.

But now that she is helpless, bonkers, zoned out on pain meds, deemed incompetent, I am now the best thing in the world because I am the only thing in her world. I am the life raft, and she's drowning.

This is not a pity-me diatribe from a 49-year-old slighted daughter. It's just that now that my sense of duty has to come into full swing, I sure wish that a loving bond or at least some good memories came along with the package.

So on Monday, the day after tomorrow, I'll be winging my way home to find a home for my mother.

I have been in Wisconsin now for almost two weeks, getting rid of her things, closing up her apartment, sorting through the mountains of unpaid bills and paperwork. I've seen her deemed incompetent and put in a skilled nursing home, where she is receiving rehab.

I am stressed, as this whole job is placed in my lap (though my dear son was here for a week to help). My brother in Milwaukee, just 25 miles away, wants nothing to do with her. He hasn't called or visited during these past two weeks. I also feel financially burdened, as I had to fly with Aaron out here on a moment's notice. Also, when she moves to Long Beach, I'm stuck there once again. My plan was to leave So Cal in May and begin anew. Now that doesn't seem to be in the cards. I feel trapped.

I've got to find a way to make this mountainous task a bit easier. I have no pleasant memories to reflect back upon, and her current state does little but produce pity, impatience, stress, a sense of being manipulated and used, and, yes, anger in me. I keep all this under wraps, of course, under the polite smile of duty. I am duty-bound to care for my mother, but, oh, how I wish my care for her were rather based on the love I have known for my son and he for me. But the opportunity for that was lost long ago.