Extra Pieces

I asked my mother today if she could teach my sister and I one thing that she wouldn't want us to have to learn on our own, 'the hard way,' what would it be.

She immediately said to be patient with other people – impatience alienates and scares others. I knew this was more of something she wanted to correct in us, not really teach us and I realized that my questions was all wrong.

Like any time I try to open my mouth lately. It comes out all wrong. My sister, today, tried to explain my frustration by quoting Dr. Phil and the idea that people's responses do not fit my script. This only led to more of the problem I was ineffectively communicating, because, while I knew what she meant by scripts, this did not really fit this particular experience.

Yes, I guess I was, technically, expecting a certain response, but only in that I expected the response to have something to do with the question or feeling in my head (this is now way beyond this one question for my mother).

On Sunday we celebrated my mother's 66^th birthday. At the end of the day, my whole reason for being her three weeks really hit me. This, I could not stop thinking as I tried to go get to bed, could be her last one. In fact, it was almost a given. Last, last one, the end, final . . .kept running in my head. This truly warps the perception of the world. Every time I tried to express this warped perception, the fears, anxieties, and anger, I felt about as comprehensible as the teacher from Peanuts (and not because I was talking through sobs and a stuffy nose and a growing headache). Every time I said something, I would get a response that was as appropriate as telling me to go roll around in the snow naked if I said I was cold. Things just didn't match up.

And this, I realized, was the whole problem. Things just weren't matching up for me. They still aren't, though a lull in the storm (as always occurs at some point in a hurricane) has moved in. Soon the chaos of winds blowing in opposing directions will come back around, probably with more frequency as the eye of this storm moves closer.

However, what my mother has taught me is that I am capable of more than I know or think. I know see myself projecting this fear and anxiety in every direction, hoping it will stick somewhere other than on my mother and keep her around for just a that little bit longer. Maybe if I move, change jobs, rehaul relationships . . . all futile distractions which only lead me away from the quality time I seek while I am here. But isn't this how many of us live most of our lives?

So, painful as it is, I take my sister's one piece of advice that seemed to fit and talk to my mother. Suddenly, I hear myself sounding like Barbara Walters. The question didn't work the first time, so I rephrase and get an answer closer to what I seek . . .which is still something new, trying to get to know this person before I no longer have a chance. Questions I did not have the presence of mind as a 10-year-old to even think of asking my father. Those will forever be unanswered, but on occasion a partial one slips through, matching a piece long ago unmatched and forgotten.