Last night my mother admitted that she considers herself happy because she no longer wakes up in the morning wondering if there is a point to getting up at all. Lord. How much more Canceresque can you get? Is there are more depressing definition of happiness out there?
I told her “I think you should raise your expectations a little bit.”
I also told her she isn’t happy because she lets stress control her life. She is stressed about my grandmother’s mental and physical health, she is stressed about my dad and his mid-life crisis which has blossomed into full-blown delusions of a Brazil-like Utopia. She is also stressed about my life, LB’s life and the ever changing baby-daddy-drama. And on top of that she is stressed about her job, where she has recently been promoted, which means working 10-12 hour days.
What I don’t understand about my mother is the fact that she is a hard worker, and does very well at all of her jobs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her NOT fully engrossed in a job. When she wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep, she usually goes to work. If you hated working so much, wouldn’t you turn on a movie, or listen to some music when you can’t go back to sleep?
She is stressed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I only see her relax when she has a glass of wine, or sings with my dad. I think she needs a change. And I’m thinking that change means letting go of my dad as her primary responsibility. It means finally sucking it up and getting a divorce. It means letting him fend for himself, and if he wants to move back to the Land-of-Wonderment (Brazil), then let him go.
One of my co-workers made up a theory about parents in our school district, and I think it applies to all walks of life: