— Nobody needs me, I will go to a nursing home alone
— I can’t take it anymore, — says Emily, — I just have no strength left. After talking to her, I feel like a squeezed lemon.
And even though I know she loves me very much, and I love her too, I wish I could limit our communication as much as possible because it is just too difficult.
Emily is 44 years old, she has a husband and two children. About five years ago, her mother became a widow, and two years ago, her younger brother got married. His wife inherited an apartment, but for about six months, the young couple lived with his mother at her request.
— Don’t leave, — pleaded Margaret to her son, — I feel so lonely, I just won’t survive if I am completely alone.
— My brother gave in to our mother’s request, convinced his wife, — says Emily, — although if I were in her place and had my own apartment, I wouldn’t have gone to live with my mother-in-law. But my brother’s wife understood the situation; they were already looking for tenants for her two-room apartment, but while they were searching, my brother himself couldn’t stand living with our mother under the same roof any longer.
— What kind of life is this, — my brother James complained to me, — she didn’t say something in the right tone, didn’t invite us to the table properly, gave us a wrong look while passing by. We are all struggling after losing Dad, but life goes on. I am not going to lose my wife over our mother’s endless grievances.
— At first, I thought this was just a typical story: daughter-in-law vs. mother-in-law, — says Emily, — but then I remembered: yes, if you tell Mom something, a few days later she will bring it up again with tears and resentment, completely changing its meaning as if you intended to hurt her. We don’t appreciate her, we don’t respect her.
After James and his wife moved out, our mother started calling me all the time, complaining about how useless she felt and how none of her children needed her.
— I’ll throw away my phone, — she would say, — forget that you even have a mother. Nobody needs me, so I don’t need anyone either.
— Mom, how can you say that? — I would tell her, — I just visited you for lunch yesterday.
— You stopped by? Just to check in? But not to sit and talk with me.
— And when am I supposed to sit? — says Emily, — I have to rush to work, my eldest son is in third grade, my daughter is preparing for school next year, weekday evenings are packed with things to do at home, and if I visit Mom on the weekend, then half the day is gone.
— Let me help you tidy up, — her daughter offers one weekend, — while my husband hangs shelves on the balcony, I can clean the bathroom, and you can spend time with your grandchildren.
— I don’t need anything, — says Mom, — I’ll live out my days, not much time left anyway. And why are you offering to clean? Do you think I’m messy? That my house is filthy?
And then it begins—recounting imaginary and real offenses dating back to Emily’s early school years. Emily endures it, but barely, and if she tries to answer back, there are immediate tears:
— You’d better not come at all, — Mom cries, — don’t irritate me. Other people’s children are real children, and you don’t need me, you only criticize me, saying I act wrong, say the wrong things. I’ll live without you, I will go to a nursing home alone.
— Even the grandchildren don’t want to stay at Grandma’s house overnight, — says Emily, — she even scolds the children, telling them she cooked for them, made an effort, and yet they don’t eat properly.
— Not long ago, my brother bought Mom new curtains, — Emily recalls, — his wife picked them out, I mean, would a man have chosen them himself? Mom initially praised the curtains, but when she found out that James’s wife picked them, she demanded they be taken away immediately.
James took them back.
Where are my new curtains? — Mom asks over the phone two days later, — did I tell you to take them away? I didn’t! And don’t make me out to be a martyr, I am perfectly sane.
— Mom is 68 years old, she has strong health, but her character has become unbearable. She has always liked being in control, keeping everything under her command, but she never acted this way when Dad was around.
Margaret’s children now live with constant guilt—feeling they don’t give their mother enough attention, that they don’t love her enough, or love her in the wrong way. They try to communicate more, to understand her needs, to listen, but it only makes things worse. And with each new complaint, their desire to maintain the relationship fades more and more.
— What should we do? — Emily asks for advice, — Because despite everything, my brother, my children, and I love our mother and grandmother very much. The grandchildren would visit her more often if she weren’t so critical.
