Counseling with Mother - Session One
If you missed all the previous dramas (and there have been many) let's have a quick overview, shall we?
1. August 2004 - Birthday dinner for My Kid at a nice Italian restaraunt. Mother shows up with that bratty-ass kid she keeps and ruins everything.
2. Sept 2004 - get that weird letter in the mail from Mother saying how she feels closer to my sister (who lives out of town) than to me & my brother (who live here). The weird part of the letter was that it wasn’t from her. It was TO her. She wrote to a friend about this, and when her friend wrote back suggesting she talk to us about it, she sent us her friend’s letter. Freak.
3. That same evening – I email her telling her she’s a freak. We argue through email for a few days then I get tired of it and tell her to fuck off.
4. Within the month – Big Daddy intercepts a letter that she's mailed to My Kid. I never find out exactly what’s in it but it’s enough to make him ban her from his life 4-evah.
4. Spring 2005 – I get a call from my sister. Mother’s husband is in the hospital. I go to the hospital. Mother acts all grateful. I’m like “whatever, I’m here. It’s the right thing to do.”
5. Within the month – her husband dies. I go to funeral. I thought it was big of me. Big Daddy freaks out and gently reminds me that My Kid is NOT ALLOWED around Mother.
6. After the funeral – I get a form letter “thank you” card from the funeral home. Or so I think. Turns out to be a hand-written note from Mother telling me how I shamed her and everyone at the funeral noticed how rude I was to her and I MIGHT AS WELL NOT EVEN EXIST AT THIS SCHOOL. I throw it away and consider all relations officially severed.
7. Last month – that crazy lady whose hellchild Mother keeps shows up at my own little special café when I was in there one evening after work. (My brother says, “Special little place you got there, huh?”) Bitch can’t mind her own business and I get a call at my new job the next morning from Mother asking me if I’ll go to counseling with her. “I’m not ready to give up on my family yet,” she says. In her ever so martyr-like way, she offers to pay if I go with her.
So now you’re all caught up.
Let’s face it, I have no big hopes or expectations for this. I could not be any more apathetic about my relationship with my mother. (I saw the counselor scribble on the pad when I used that word. I make his job so easy.) I don’t care if we speak. I don’t care if we don’t. And she’s brought that shit on herself, baby.
So here’s how Session One went:
First we filled out paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. Of course, I refused to sign away anything. Want to contact my primary care physician? Tough. Insurance info? N/A. Then it was time for each of us to have a few minutes of one-on-one time with the counselor. Who, big surprise, had a beard and glasses.
Mother offered that I should go first.
Doc: So why are we here?
Me: It was Mother’s idea.
Doc: What led up to this point?
Me: Well, we haven’t talked in months.
Doc: What happened?
Me: Which time?
I shared several events in our relationship. The rundown from above, with a few more details.
Doc: So, obviously a lot of things have gone on over the years…
Me: Oh no, this is just in the past year. There’s lots more.
Doc: What do you hope to get out of this?
Me: Beats the shit outta me.
Then it was Mother’s turn. I went and got some work out of my car so the time wouldn’t be wasted. And so my sister’s fat annoying kids would maybe entertain themselves and leave me the hell alone. (Note to sis: Quit feeding them carbs. Your kids are freaking giants. It’s not right.)
After Mother’s turn, we had a little bit of time in there together with Dr. Bear-face so he could lay down the ground rules: no scratching, no biting, no hair pulling. I walk in the room and of course Mother is crying. Dr. Fuzzy-wuzzy gives his speech and then asks if anyone has any questions. I roll my eyes. I know Mother is going to have a word.
Mother: *Sniff* “I just want to say that I will take complete blame for everything I have done and all that has happened over the years.” *Sniff* “I just want to know if there is hope for a family with three generations of mothers and daughters who do not know how to love.” *Sniff*
Me: *roll my eyes*
Doc: “Small changes can feel pretty darn good blah blah blah we’ll map out relationships for three generations back…”
Me: (oh great, homefuckingwork)
Mother: *SNIFF*
I guess there’s no reason to go on. You probably have a pretty good feel for the utter melodrama of the situation and the equally extreme DISDAIN I have for it all.
Irony of it all, I’m sitting now in my little café where it all began. If it weren’t for this place, I’d still be living a peaceful existence void of any maternal unit. Boris, another pinot noir!
