A Dream About My Mother

mom and me
I dreamt about my mother last night. She died last year, and my mind still refuses to impose order on my jumble of feelings. Sometimes it’s loss; other times liberation. One day it’s regret; another day it’s defiance. I over-think our relationship, or don’t think about it at all.

I had little tolerance for my mother. She wanted to enmesh herself in my life in ways that suffocated me. She would repeatedly pump me for answers to questions she knew I would not answer. She called me incessantly knowing I would not pick up. She rifled through my mail, spilled my secrets, and badmouthed people I loved.

My sister asked me last week: “Would it have made a difference if you knew mom had a mental illness?”

Her question has been haunting me. I long suspected there was something “off” with my mom. She was often manic. She seemed to lack a super-ego to keep her opinions in check. She would swear (like a sailor) up and down that she was telling the truth when I knew she was fibbing.

If I had known that my mother wouldn’t change her ways because she couldn’t change her ways (like expecting a blind person to see), would it have made a difference? If I had known she didn’t have the psychological make-up to act more appropriately, would I have been more compassionate? Would I have laughed rather than screamed at her antics? Would I have visited more?

I don’t know.

I do know that as I got older, I lowered my expectations of my mother bit by bit. I fought less (what was the point) and withdrew more. I rarely visited her apartment even though it was a short drive. If she wanted to see me, she had to make the effort. But her visits always made me edgy and left me sad.

So I protected myself. I parceled out my time with her. I didn’t ban her from my life completely (or the lives of my children) but I kept her at arm’s length. It was never a satisfactory compromise. She continued to want me too much, and I continued to need her too little.

I rarely remember my dreams, but I remember my dream from last night.

In my dream, my mom is living in an institution. The walls are bare and sterile and she is dwarfed in a cavernous room. She is wearing a loose fitting cotton housedress, the kind she used to wear. She looks the same as she did before she got ill and died. I can see her talking to me on the phone.

“Mom, I’m coming over. I’m going to take you out,” I tell her.

“That’s ok. You don’t need to come,” she tells me, not unkindly.

“No, I want to be with you,” I say.

After I hang up, still in my dream, I call my sister: “It’s weird that now that mom is dead, I actually want to spend time with her.” It’s a dream so it is possible to visit a dead mother.

But now she is too busy to spend time with me.

What does this mean?

I don’t know.

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