While my mother was on her feet, we thought she was just being mean, because she was always obnoxious. She didn’t like my husband. She’d say something nasty, and when I asked her why, she’d say: “Why, I’m telling the truth.” The truth, but who needed it. Even if my husband was wrong, and I knew it, why make it worse.
When my mother got sick and didn’t want to be treated properly, all hell broke loose. And “you want to poison me,” and “you are sending me to surgery on purpose. And it was necessary to change the joint in her knee. I could hardly be persuaded to do it, and only because I could not walk at all. She did not even listen to her favorite grandson. And when I talked to a psychiatrist, it was already too late. And everyone was jumping around. This and that wrong, and this. At least we lived separately, my dad got everything.
Then, despite her disagreement, we hired a nurse. And at least we got some breathing room. You know, when she died a year and a half ago, I still don’t feel like I lost her. In my mind, she was lost as a mom, as a reasonable person long before that. Because my mother couldn’t do those things.
My psychologist explained to me that this is how my brain helped me not to go crazy myself. Although I consider myself quite strong mentally. So the psychiatrist’s advice was this – don’t go along with it, don’t jump at every word, don’t do requests or orders that are unreasonable or harmful to your family. They revel in that and feed into it. You have to calmly but firmly say no to such people.
I’ve seen firsthand how old people feed off the energy of their children and grandchildren.
