Stranger in a strange land

The Bitch is sitting on the toilet. I am kneeling, all senses fully engaged, between her 87-year-old legs, wiping her ass.

Because of a genetic anomaly, I am able to acknowledge the possibility that I don’t have a monopoly on feelings, so I am talking nonstop to distract her. As I reach for her clean panties [oh, to have the talent to describe how hard it was to type that p-word], she says, “One day, I hope you learn some compassion” and begins to segue into yet another recitation of her woes.

I lost it. Looked right in her eyes and screamed, “Shut the fuck up! I’m sick of your goddamn bitching and moaning. Just shut UP!”

As soon as I helped her back to bed, I went to the kitchen and started to cry, overflowing with shame at having told my mother to fuck off, even though she deserved it. Even though she had deserved it for a very long time.

Then, of course, I got angry—at myself—for crying instead of celebrating what should have been a triumphant moment.

That incident happened more than two years ago, but I have thought about it often this week. On Monday, my brother-in-title-only and I will take her to visit an assisted living community. Signing a lease is far from a done deal, but my real brother, who lives out of town, has somehow made this miracle visit happen.

I know she would be safer there than in the large apartment she loves. I know she’d be busier and far more content. What I don’t know is why this upcoming visit fills me with sadness. If ever I needed to put on a happy face, Monday afternoon would be the time. I fear I won’t be able to pull it off. And I’m afraid of the tears I hope I can hold back until after I take her home.

As always, my sadness makes me feel angry. This time, it also puzzles me. I know I will grieve when she dies, although not for the “right” reasons. What has sustained me for the past I-don't-know-how-long is the knowledge that one day, if I am lucky enough to outlive her, the space I allow her to occupy in my head will shrink to a manageable size. That I can see myself in a light her judgments don’t eclipse. That maybe I can be free.