Caring and Coming With the Territory

One of the things in life I dread most is the extent to which I am a burden on my mom.  Financially, I don’t have an exceptionally bad record, and in my actions I don’t tend to justify some of her more fevered imaginings (mom was still having the occasional nightmare about me showing up on her doorstep pregnant, like some sort of wayward teen reality TV star, even past my age 40), but sometimes life is stressful, and we share the stress with those we love either through action, complaint, or simply because caring about someone means worrying sometimes, even sometimes when worry doesn’t help.

One of those parts of my life I keep offstage, I have successfully been able to distract myself from.  Still, life does flare up, and when it does that even a dried up old biddy aunt can’t keep the experience entirely personal.  So mom’s been worrying about me, and it breaks my heart.

Try as I might, I’m mom’s daughter, and nobody can be someone’s child without their care turning into concern – and worry – from time to time.  I worry about her, too, fair is fair.  That’s family – we scold each other out of fear for wellbeing, and we protect each other even from things those we’re “protecting” want no protection from.  In this case, mom wants to protect me from something I dearly wish I could protect HER from – wish I could not “be” this problem in the first place.  I suppose that wish goes as much against logic as all our wishes for our loved ones seem to.

It’s a blessing my mom loves me.  I only wish it were an easier blessing on her.