Last we spoke, my mother was visiting for spring break and it was painful as hell.

Whelp, she abruptly curtailed her visit when Little called with Bad Medical News.

Here’s some photos of the super bloom we were visiting, which meant that when we got back into cell tower range, all the text dings started up on everyone’s phone, followed by the call to Mom’s.

(FWIW, I did have the extremely awkward conversation with my sister which goes, “Hey, this is tacky to ask, but… when all this settles down, can I write about what happened to you?”

To which Little replied, “Hell yes I’ll send you photocopies of my medical records to use as graphics.”

But it later occurred to me she might have agreed, assuming I’d be doing some kind of medical malpractice expose with a bevy of great journalism skills I do not possess. I’m not sure how much more of an asshole I can afford to be, if I go back to clarify that I only want permission to bitch on my blog.)

So for now, we will keep the details in the dissatisfying land of vague-blogging. But the overarching shit-fest is my littlest sister,

whose dad just died,
and who nine days later gave birth,
and a few weeks after that had exploratory surgery,
who had solar panels put on her house and the installation guys damaged her roof (at least they were clearly at fault, and are paying to replace the roof, but she still has a ceiling collapsing in on itself with water damage, plus infant, plus toddler.)

THAT SISTER called with Bad Medical News that probably involves long term legal, financial, and health ramifications for her.

“I just want to ask God what I did wrong,” she whispered over the phone.  You have probably never seen me Hulk out, but if ever I was going to rage so hard my shirt got ripped to shreds, that was it.

Anyway, Mom dropped everything to spend the day on the computer doing research, interspersed with calls for help to all friends and relatives with medical and legal backgrounds. Then she drove directly to my sister’s to be with her. Good news? As of my current knowledge of the situation, Little has an appointment to see the premier specialist in our area of the country. Woefully expected news which might be a pretty good indicator of her financial downfall? It will cost her $10,000 out-of-pocket to get in the door for an evaluation.

All this to say things continue to be high stress over here. FWIW, the only god I currently recognize is the one who delivers life events in HOLD MY BEER meme format.

As you might guess, my mom and sister seem quite fragile right now. One day Mom called, left a message, and texted, demanding I call her back That! Day! Please!

It turned out she’d bought a gift for Little, who didn’t like the gift, and Mom needed help choosing a replacement gift. The conversation was short, as after Mom fretted on all the reasons the first gift was wrong, put Little on the phone, who was well versed in the replacement gift she wanted.

Later that day, Mom texted that she was sorry if she had offended me somehow. I chose to let that message slip on by without response. Not my classiest move, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to either speak honestly (WTF? She didn’t need me for that decision and I definitely didn’t appreciate the three messages demanding my presence on a deadline, and her last text seemed like an invitation to the same drama party she’d just held that morning) or soothe her worries as both suggested emotional energy I didn’t want to spend.

Over the next few days, she sporadically sent texts (Just wanted to tell you I love you!) and phone messages, (Just thought I’d say hello!) I knew she was falling apart in some way.

It’s easy to talk about interactions like last post, where I feel I bravely take a stand, change my behavior, and stop an interaction that is no good for me. It’s difficult to talk about the other side of the dynamic, in which my mother isn’t acting the villain, but broken and alone and needing love, someone desperate not to be abandoned. I guess it’s because I haven’t yet figured out how to escape this trap without feeling like a terrible person. In these moments, she is the child and I am the mother.

When I finally gave in and called her, she spoke for an hour, nonstop. The phone beeped and hissed and clicked throughout our conversation, in what I now legitimately accept as her stress level’s psychic interference. She told me that when discussing Dad’s memorial options with Little, Little allegedly told Mom she wanted a small, family-only memorial for Dad because Little didn’t want to sugar-coat her eulogy for the sake of a bunch of strangers, and felt in some ways Dad was a bad parent and wanted to speak honestly about her memory of him.

I don’t know what, if any, percentage of this fight was heat-of-the-moment stress that, once vented, will never come up again.

Internet, I am so sad about this. Everyone has the right to their own feelings, and it’s not my personal memorial but for everyone. But I hate that she’s planning to do this. I hate I not only have to balance my own emotions, and my fears about The Exes coming, but now also prepare for whatever unhappy thing Little feels she needs to say.

I’m worried about what she might say in front of my kids, which I guess I should trust children will accept as much detail as they are ready to handle, and it’s not hot emotional content for them as their aunts, parents and grandparents are a bunch of old people with opaque family secrets and ties. Despite this logic, I’m still anxious and angry about it in a way that also seems very OH WON’T YOU THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!

And in a very selfish way, I was hoping for more people at the memorial so I could avoid The Exes, rather than an intimate recreation of previous family gatherings in which I could not avoid them.

I told my mom I was just along for the ride, OK with whatever they decided.

“OK, You talk. I took up all the time. Tell me something good,” my mother said at the end of all this. It was such a whipsaw I had a moment of actual physical seasick lurching. I distracted her with some bitching about Game of Thrones and then got off the phone with the excuse of needing to put kids to bed.

But the truth is I am struggling right now.