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<\/p>\nBy Wednesday this week, my mom had left two messages on the home phone, emailed me twice with questions about a future visit, and finally texted me:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I called her back Wednesday evening, and she spoke for two hours the way most people barf \u2013 in heaves beyond her control, apologetic for the mess but unable to be interrupted.<\/p>\n
Two things came up. First, my dad has broken both his front teeth recently, the second one in the past few days. He doesn\u2019t want to go to the dentist as his tolerance for discomfort is almost nil.<\/p>\n
You would think breaking teeth would be forefront in the conversation, but it actually took about fifteen minutes for me to wedge in a follow-up question on this topic.<\/p>\n
Instead, we took a side trip in the odyssey of dementia; Dad\u2019s profound and ever increasing sensitivity to chaffing. How he can no longer stand tags in clothes, or seams in his socks. You\u2019d think he\u2019d wear sweatpants, but it turns out he can\u2019t stand the elastic waistband. Sometimes when he\u2019s cold, he\u2019ll wear jeans to bed.<\/p>\n
The subtext of course: there’s just no practical way he’d sit tight and endure a dentist appointment filled with drills and scraping and the discomfort of holding his mouth open. And at this stage in the game, it’s fair odds he’d simply jump from the car on their way to the appointment.<\/p>\n
When my mother goes on one of these side trips, I can\u2019t help imagining her like Alice in Wonderland, where any weird-assed, unsettling thing might happen. Occasionally, logic will work to resolve the problem (could the dentist give Dad nitrous? Maybe he could listen to music or a story on headphones as distraction?) but more often, you just have to roll with the new reality. In this case, next time I see my dad, he\u2019ll be a snaggle-toothed mad hatter in jean jammies.<\/p>\n
The other thing that came up was, of course, Trump.<\/p>\n
My mom was born in a red state, and most of her family members voted for Trump and are still enthusiastically supportive of his regime. In the past few weeks, my mom took a public stand against him, and was strongly rebuked by her family.<\/p>\n
As a quick recap, my relationship with my mother broke because her value system is, \u201cFamily is family, no matter what.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nice sentiment, I guess. *Here, the author shrugs like a sullen teen* But in practical terms, it means that any abusive asshole who happens to be related to you becomes both inescapable and protected by the motto \u2013 no matter what they do, you cannot reject them.<\/p>\n
A few years ago, I absolutely did cut contact with a couple of relatives and adopted a new motto, \u201cIf you\u2019re not safe, you don\u2019t get to be family,\u201d which my mother took as a profound betrayal.<\/p>\n
I guess she feels I\u2019m not trustworthy at a base level, that there is a calculating streak in me that allows me to sum up a person\u2019s value, to not forgive, to never fully let myself bond to others. I am unable to love unconditionally.<\/p>\n
More than once, she has tearfully confessed that she lives in terror of doing something wrong, and that in response, I will cut her out of my life and she will lose me with no hopes of making up for her mistake. I suspect she believes this argument tugs at my guilty heart strings. But most often, I think in my booming A FEW GOOD MEN voice, \u201cYou\u2019re goddamn right, so watch yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n