Helpless Bystander

So I called my poor mother again today. Sweet dear, she never knows quite what to do when her middle child sobs into the phone about how much she hates her life. I know it hurts her to know how bad things are for me and to not be able to help. I know that pouring my miseries out on top of her weighs her down. My problems are something that she carries with her, along with her own, and my brother's, and my sister's, and everyone else's in her life. It only makes me feel worse to know this, but there is nothing I can do.

She's so good, my mother. She never knows what to say or do, but she listens to me go on and on and on, even though she probably can't even understand half of what I say because my voice is caught in my tears. She just listens, and tells me she doesn't know what to say, and she tells me she loves me. Words that I could never have enough of. She does love me, too. I never doubt that.

At times she has been my saving grace. The only one who was there for me during my divorce. When moving out of the apartment I had shared with my husband, she was the one to load all of my belongings into her work van while I stood in the middle of the room and tried to figure out what to grab next. She was the one to pick me up and drive me home when I had my car accident. She was the one to go with me as my witness, twice, to the courthouse for my divorce. The second time she was on crutches, but she hobbled along, determined to see me move on with my life. (I shall have to tell you the story of my marriage and divorce sometime. It is just delightful.) She has lent me her money, her time, her credit, her love, and her shoulder for the past year without fail.

I can't do a thing in return for her. I tell her all the time how much I love her, how much I need her, how much she means to me, and how much I appreciate her presence and support in my life. I do what I can for her, but it isn't much. I think the one thing that I could do for her to make her deeply happy would be to find happiness myself so that she can stop worrying about me. I don't know how or when that will happen. I have made a serious effort this year. I decided that after a crappy year like 2004, 2005 was going to be MY YEAR. So far, I can't say that I'm thrilled.

I really do try to make the best of it. I have been spending more time with my family. I have been trying not to stress about my work so much, and I'm even looking, however unsuccessfully, for other jobs. I signed up for guitar lessons. I planted a garden. I bought hamsters. I started this blog. And yet still I have a dark cloud over my head that rains down my face at night, and I go through more boxes of tissues myself than any small family should.

What would I do without my mom? Who would I ever turn to if I lost her? Who could ever know me the way she does, and love me anyway? Mother's Day is coming up next month. Last year I bought her a curio for her bedroom. This year, I'll be lucky if I can get her some flowers.

I hope that she doesn't feel that she has failed me. Sometimes she is the only thing holding me together. I hope that she doesn't feel that I have failed her. I am not done trying yet.