My Questionable Relationship is Rewarded With Pussy During Ongoing Saga

Thanks to my crazy ass mother, today I was given the protection of the Nyx by Jules over at What A Tragic Comedy!  It’s description includes this: “Grab life by the horns, and accept nothing that keeps you from doing what you want to do,” plus this: “a mean ass little kitty to stare down unwanted people, objects, moods, lingering doubts, etc.”

I think it’s the words “mean ass little kitty” that make me like it so much.  Thank you, thank you, you’re utterly sweet & kind.

I’ve been asked many times, both in real life and blog-a-delphia, why I stay in touch with my mother at all.  I’m really not even sure.  (The votes are definitely trending toward a big fat “WTF?”)

Sometimes it’s to get my digs in.  When I get to the point of insanity, I finally say the things I’m thinking.  My anger overtakes my fear, and that’s a good thing.  Sometimes.

In the past two weeks we’ve had the following exchanges, and I won the first battle.  I write 100 lines & get back 12 words in response, typically.

Mom says (with the tone of a 5-year old): “If you’re talking to Julie, ask her about life insurance.  Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want a benefit.  Why does everyone think I have so much, when I don’t?  I’m responsible for the funeral and flowers and she’s getting $45,000.”

Note the fact that Mom doesn’t mention she’s now got the house, which is worth more than double the life insurance.  I still hadn’t realized it at that point.

Part of my reply: “I don’t give a flying fuck what she gets in life insurance because it would never be enough to thank her . . . [when he had the bypass surgery she even] wiped his ass.  As far as I’m concerned, the house should be handed over to her . . .

“Why does everyone think you have so much?  The money you’ve spent over the years on men whose bills you’ve paid — your son isn’t as important as they were/are?  If you don’t want people to think you have money then you shouldn’t talk about it incessantly.

“If [Julie] moves out because she feels harrassed, the house will be left an empty shell.  Is that what you’re hoping for?  If so, it will be another THING in your arsenal, as the people fade away.  You will never buy YOUR SON another birthday or Christmas gift, never pay another bill for him.  Yet you begrudge him a fucking $8,000?  I am so sad for my brother, that this is what it all comes to. 

“On the way home I was feeling like maybe I’ve been wrong over the years, not to try harder, and then it all returns to normal in an instant.”

Her next reply, the whole reply:

“A benefit in NJ must be different than IL, these people want to do something . . . it is in no way detrimental or unworthy of any person.  Only very well liked people get benefits for them.  I don’t know.” 

So I say:

“A benefit in NJ is the same as in Illinois . . .  You could sell his truck & have more than enough money to pay for all of it, plus.  But you don’t want to sell it because you’ll continue to make money off of it.  People already did things for Jim . . .  Anything above & beyond that should go to Julie. 

“His FAMILY should bury him.  If it had been a NORMAL situation, one where he became a man and stood on his own two feet, then he would presumably not have needed his mother to bury him.  However, as we both know, that was not the situation.  You could have ended your deal at any time, but you chose not to.  You wanted him to need you for everything.  Now he does & you want to change the deal when he can’t argue back.  Shameful. 

“I’d rather be left in the woods with a pack of coyotes.”

This was my brother Scott’s favorite line of all:

“Put on your big girl panties and pay the fucking funeral bill, the last thing you’ll ever do for him.”

Finally, as an after thought, I wrote this:

“Just in case you think what I’ve written is mean or cruel, rest assured that I only wrote the nice things and deleted all the bad stuff.”

The reply to ALL OF THAT was in regard to the single idea of selling his truck:

“Don’t think so.  There’s 20,000 still owed on it.”

She even ignored the “big girl panty” line!

Suddenly we’re talking finances again.  Money.  The only thing that matters.

At the end of the week I called my sister, who said Mom cried all day after getting the e-mails.  The money quote: “I don’t know why Pam hates me so much.  I don’t know what I ever did to her!”  (It’s always a possibility that I might one day accidentally send her this blog address.)

Still, making a woman cry when she’s just lost her son doesn’t sit well with me.  So I called her and we spoke for over an hour, in normal tones of voice, glossing over the details. 

By the end of the week she was sending me reports of her weight loss and I responded with this:

“248 is Great!

“You could easily have another 20 year marriage. Think about that:) LOL

“Traveling . . .

“Fishing . . .

“Fucking — Ahahahahahahahaha!”

Not exactly a normal mother/daughter correspondence, but I am a bit of a chameleon and can swing with the monkeys.  Gotta keep her spirits up cause I figure she has to live at least another six months or I’ll feel like my e-mails killed her.

Most importantly, the benefit was canceled, a minor skirmish in the mother/daughter war.

By yesterday, my niece had been hospitalized then moved to prison.

The fun never stops.