My mothers insanity seethes about the house. It crawls and infests every nook and can of jellied cranberry sauce. Pleasant, it is not. She stood in the doorway of this bedroom at nigh nine o’clock this morning fuming.
This is why you have to live in the same place as us, Bob! I need help! He [Dad] can’t remember anything. He’s lost his mind. It is making me crazy.
Well, Mom, you already are crazy.
As I showered, I pondered what she said and her intentions behind it. My conclusion was as it always has been since I was a child. My mother seeks to imprison me. A cage it is, son! It is her unfaltering method. It is also the reason that Ben visits so rarely. Well, besides the fact that this is Seminole. (He once cited the place as a reason for his infrequent visits.) Given my mother’s way, I’d be living in West Texas, bereft of intellectual stimuli, rotting. Of course, she would not take into consideration (the conditional was not needed there) my mental state, but only hers. I once told her she was very selfish. I do not retract that statement.
I don’t blame it on her aging.
I followed up (unknowingly, at the time) on this morning encounter with a conversation with my father. Mom had gone to the doctor. Ostensibly, she has a bladder infection. I must admit it could have contributed to her mood.
Dad is very rational and down to earth when she is not around. Perhaps this is because the seething insanity is kept at bay. Or at least it is diluted, for I feel some remains in the woodwork, in the bricks and in the furniture and carpet even when she is away. It will remain even after she is in her grave. She may well have poisoned this place.
As an aside, I am reminded of what Christian has told me about his mother and subsequently his family. Perhaps it was better for him that she died early on. It may have saved him at least a portion of his sanity.
My mother, according to my father, is, of course, worried about my imminent relocation to Spain. She tends to create hyperboles from simple stories in her head and project them onto her surroundings. The victims are my father and I. If she thinks I am going to stay here and get a menial job (or even a telecommuting development position) in order to save her sanity, she is truly out of her mind.
Don’t throw away your life, Bobbus. Just don’t do it.
