I hate doing this to you, but I must confess something: I’m finding it harder and harder to commit to sitting my autonomous ass down in a chair long enough to compose a blog post worthy of your perusal. The problem is I’ve made threats to stop blogging before, only to start writing again which probably made me seem a bit flakey, but this time, it’s different.
You see, my mother had a minor stroke on the operating table a month ago and it affected the right side of her face. She’s suffered slight aphasia; meaning her speech has been affected somewhat. We’re not talking anything to the extent of Kirk Douglas, but you can definitely tell she experienced a neurological event.
This brush with her own mortality has shocked this once vibrantly irrepressible 81-year-old woman into a malaised submission. She’s depressed; she claims she’s “tired”. I hate hearing that because I know what that means. She keeps referring to this being the last year of her life. Plus, it didn’t help that Elizabeth Taylor, two years her junior, has just died. Or that other friends of similar age are dropping like…well, they’re dropping.
I’ve always had a rather contentious relationship with my mother. As the youngest of three girls, I was the louder, more radical daughter; the rebelious one who couldn’t sit still; couldn’t accept the status quo, especially if the status quo didn’t benefit me directly. I wanted to be somebody…not just a daughter, turned wife and mother. That didn’t jive with my mother’s plans for me, though to be honest, I really never knew what her plans were for me. I still don’t know. All I know is that who and what I am, isn’t who or what my mother wants me to be.
I’ve spent years grasping at straws trying to please her. I tried on different hats, I tested different ambitions. I assumed different personas at the risk of being most disingenuous to myself. Nothing worked. I have to cease and desist this behavior. At 51, I can’t enter the Indian Summer of my life not knowing who I am because I’ve always felt the need to be someone else.
So, it’s her condition plus the fact that I’m poised on the brink of some significant personal changes means that I’ve got a lot of decisions to make. What to do, where to do it. Who I need to let into my life and yes, who needs to exit it. Before, I’ve been very forthright on this blog o’mine. Save for names and addresses, I’ve spared very little in terms of open and honest LK revelations. This time, I feel I need to play things closer to my chest. I need to restore a relationship with my mother; I need to establish one while I can. That will require time and effort and above all, patience.
I’m also making concessions because I am so easily plagued by my own Judeo/Catholic guilt….the kind that will gnaw on me like a Dingo on an infant.
But even so, I’m not saying goodbye. Not completely. Easter approaches and I have a birthday coming up in a few weeks and I certainly can’t light 52 candles on my cake without at least one last über self- indulgent piece on reaching such a milestone. And if something obnoxious this way comes, of course I’m compelled to write about which I will. So yes, I’ll be back, just a bit more infrequently. Please know that if I ever elect to officially call it quits and send this blog to WordPress heaven, you’ll know about it and no, I won’t be like Cher or The Stones and go on six separate farewell tours. The end will most definitely be the end; the time will be right.
And also please know that I won’t delete the blog. Oh no no no no no. I’ll never do that. I crave the immortality. Posterity deserves my pedanticism. Andf if you ever have any doubts about the reasons why it ended as it did, when it did, just go back to the start: late March of 2007.
…If you want to know reasons surrounding the way things end, merely try to understand how they began…
Sometimes, we have to leave simply because we can no longer stay.
It really is all about timing, isn’t it?