the Dance of Detachment

Watching the dance of Detachment play out is really interesting. As my mother prepares to leave emotions are running high for all of us. My brother, my husband, my daughter, my mother, and myself are all reacting differently to the clock counting down to when she will be in Florida. My mother and my brother have been arguing. My brother wanted paperwork for something and my mom wouldn't hand it over. However when I talked to my brother (on Facebook admittedly) I got at what was really bothering him. He doesn't want her to move. He's worried about her being alone down there. He's mad at her because he cares. I respect that. I am worried too. I tried to tell him that we couldn't change her. She's an addict who always puts herself first and nothing we can say or do will change her. Later I called my mother and told her that he and I were on the same page. She got angry. "I thought you supported me on this..."  Mom, I support you in being happy. I know you have to live your own life. I wouldn't choose this for you but I'm not going to stand in your way.

And so the dance goes on. She went to my daughter's art show but she went when she knew we weren't going to be there. She saw the art and the photos but not the performance. She met a teacher and chatted. I can only imagine how that went.

So the calendar is set for Saturday, April 23rd for her to load her truck. She hasn't paid for the truck yet so there is still a chance that all of this may be for nothing. This could still be a lot of build-up for nothing. Her move-in appointment at the new place is set for Thursday, April 28th but again who knows?

Nothing in life is set in stone. Once when I was a child, in 5th grade, she was getting ready to leave my step-father. We visited my new school, saw the apartment and toured the neighborhood. We loaded the moving truck. Then they talked it over and we unloaded everything. A few months later we loaded up again. This time I did not get to see my new school or the new apartment. That time it was real. We went and I never spent another night in that house since although my step-father is still there. So I know from painful experience that nothing with my mother is finite.

I am watching this dance, and playing my part in the dance, and crying on the inside mostly where no one can see me.