Bad Phone

A girls' best friend is her mother.

A girl's worst enemy...yeah...it's her mother.

My mom and I can be really close. When we're together it's just non-stop jabber. Attached at the hip (and now, as she gets less and less “mobile” we're attached at the elbow) we fall into the comfortable give and take of our relationship. I'm lucky that, as the baby of a family much older than I, I got to be raised much like a single child. I had Mama all to myself for a good portion of my life. We got to be girlfriends as well as parent and child, and that makes us incredibly close.

Too close. While we feed off of each other's joy in being close to one another we also feed off each others depression. It's a genetic thing, I'm sure of it. Like my long legs and my proclivity towards the creative my mother handed me her nearly debilitating depression. She got it from her Mother, who in turn received it from my Great-Grandmother. I'm sure if I went back a few more generations I'd find more women carrying this little demon in their hearts.

And it is a demon. It eats at you. For no reason at all it will surface and you can feel its tiny toes and sharp claws pricking at you. It loves company...and a phone call with my Mother is another chance to connect with it's demon brethren. You can almost hear their voices taking over through our own conversations. My Mother's need to guilt me into going home is almost as strong and my need to keep the demons at bay. I can't let them take over, she can't let me let go.

“Hi...it's me!”

“Hi! How are you doing.”

“Oh I'm okay...can we talk?”

“I'm not okay.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm sick.”

“You've been sick my whole life.”

“I'm dying.”

“You've been dying as long as I can remember.”

“It hurts.”

“I can't make it better Mama, I can't fix it.”

“I'll never see you again.”

“I hurt too.”

“You're not here.”

“Next summer...next Christmas.”

“It'll be too late.”

And it might be. I can remember years ago when my siblings were planning their weddings my Mother would lament “I need my Mom.” Then I would point out that she was the Mommy, and why did we need more Mommies. She'd shake her head and cry. Grandma wasn't gone, she just wasn't coming.

Apparently keeping each other at bay is also a genetic trait.

But now that I'm older and am facing big grown-up decisions I feel myself start to lament too. I need my Mom. I have things in my head and my heart that I don't think I can decide on without her. I'm not sure if I need her to disapproval so I can, as a teenager, go off and do exactly the opposite. Or if I need her blessing, her “I told you so.” But I know I need something and I can't imagine it coming from anyone but her.

Either to let lose my inner demon and allow havoc and chaos to run rampant, or to swallow it down and make a peace. All I know now is that I'm lost.

And I really need my Mommy.