Recently I moved across the state so I can go to grad school. Many things contributed to this decision.
*I finally figured out what I want to do my thesis on. That was an important final step.
*I wasn’t getting anywhere in my job search. I was getting right tired of a two-year bout of interviewing with principal after principal (my bachelor’s is in English Ed.) and not getting anywhere. Frustration is not good for little spazcats.
*I was getting depressed by my substitute job. Teachers: please leave detailed instructions. Please.
*I was also getting tired of my family expecting me to take care of my mom. Herein lies the long part:
About three years ago, my mom started having serious memory problems. No one has any idea what is wrong with her, but all signs point to an undiagnosed stroke. It got particularly bad in early 2002, to the point that she needs constant care. This meant that my dad, who works at home, had to keep an eye on her on top of everything else. My dad is not used to this, as my mom was the one who took care of everything for the first thirty years of marriage. I moved back home to help him out. My sisters, who live sixty minutes away, did nothing but offer unhelpful advice. Said sisters also have chi’drens.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my niece and nephews dearly. But I don’t like it when they’re Mommy’s Little Excuse. My parents see their grandchildren once every couple of months if they’re lucky.
Back in March, I started dating one of my oldest and dearest friends, GnominClature, who I have known for five years. He lives in the town where we both went to college, so we were making weekend trips back and forth across the state from March to August. My car protested. Finally, I came to a realization.
I had several choices, but there were two that were staring me right in the face. I could stay with my parents, becoming more and more depressed in my lousy job, watching my mom disintegrate more and more as my sisters ignored the problem and my dad killed himself with work…
OR
I could take this opportunity to finally strike out on my own and get my Master’s degree, moving back to ECU and living with my boyfriend since my car’s protesting had made my finances dwindle. This is the route I have chosen.
I tell my family of this decision. They all seem to be cool with it. No objections were raised except the “how are you going to pay for it” discussion and other such mundane details. This was the time to make any moral judgements, caregiver queries, and/or screaming fits of forbidding. None of these happened. I moved out and am now in the process of Preparing For My Re-Entry into College next year.
Then my mom gets sick. Specifically she had to have a gallstone operation. This is what is meant by the phrase “all hell breaks loose.”
Do I get a phone call informing me that my mother, the family member I was closest too, the person whose mental deterioration I have watched for the last year or so, is in the hospital? No.
Do I get a snippy email from one of my sisters informing me of this and an even snippier response when I inform her that the telephone is an effective communication device? Yes.
Did I tell my sister to go fuck herself? Not in so many words, but yes.
Did I discover that my dad is not cool with me moving and that my sisters are doing jack shit to help him out? Oh hell yeah.
Listen up, family, and listen good. I am twenty-three years old. I am not your little doormat. You may no longer foist your unpleasant jobs upon me. I have a life of my own and dammit, I’m going to lead it. I will not waste my life doing your jobs for you. You may not like what I am doing, but just remember, my sisters did something like the same thing with their husbands. Your hypocrisy annoys and irritates me.
And to you, my darling sisters, I leave you with this: You are the ones who are able to have children. Your children are watching the way you treat your parents. You sow what you reap.