My place looks like a half-way house. (According to my daughter-in-law).
And I can't argue her to the contrary because I don't think I've ever been in a half-way house. I think it looks more like a storage facility packed by a dyslexic bunch with no concept of order.
But then again, it's not every day you see a table on its side, blocking two TV's, in front of a coffee table behind 3 couches, a queen size mattress, three desks, multiple plants with no access to sunlight, a hallway blocked by boxes and a few empty bookshelves randomly scattered throughout.
And that's just the living room.
The items of two and a half apartments have been stuffed into one - mine.
Until today.
Son #3 is moving into his new apartment as we speak and son #2 moved to Toronto this morning with his girlfriend.
It's been a helluva couple of months.
I have to admit, just yesterday, I couldn't take the dark curtains drawn anymore (it's been blistering hot) and I ripped everything open, heat be damned!
There was so much 'stuff' I was claustrophobic beyond.
But in a way I can hardly explain, it was loads of fun.
Maybe it's because I've never done the college dorm thing. Or maybe it's because when I was still a single parent I was scrambling to understand who I was and what had happened to me and missed out on 'just watching' the comaraderie between my boys.
Either way, I was privy to observing an unparalleled warmth between people - 3 boys and their 3 girlfriends - amid the mess, and it was a stellar experience.
I'm not saying they never fight. Or never swear for that matter. They can make an angry truck-driver sound like a good mennonite boy.
And trust me, when they're pissed at each other, everybody knows it.
All of a sudden, it's not "my brother this, my brother that", it's "your son is an asshole, you know that don't you?" to which I reply, "you mean your brother?" to which they reply, "not right now he's not!"
But they've learned an invaluable lesson that some people take a lifetime to figure out and others never do.
You can't be mad forever. It's EXHAUSTING.
It used to be when I heard the words, "Your son is a dick, I'm NEVER talking to him again, I MEAN IT!" I used to sweat bullets thinking my boys would split off from each other emotionally and it would leave a big gaping hole in my heart FOREVER.
But it always passes. It took me a long time to realize this because with some people, it never passes. Like my mom. That's what I was used to.
Every fight, every form of resentment was layered. My mom was like the bricklayer of personified hate.
But my kids have had so many fights over the years, and gotten to know each other so well, they just KNOW things always come right again. It's like an unwritten rule or something.
But it also requires work.
You have to want those relationships in your life. So you make it a priority to speak your mind and make it work. No matter what. The boys have learned to talk through all of their issues as they come up so there's very little build up.
So now, when they can have a wicked argument they can say (on the spot):
"I'll talk to you in a few days when I'm over it but right now I think you're a complete dick."
Meanwhile, I still have to work through my fear that they won't speak to each other EVER AGAIN. It's my first reaction. And I have to ask myself: Why?
And then it hit me. I think about my mom and how she handles conflict.
The difference between how she handles conflict (or anger) and how the boys do is like night and day.
They know they'll get over it and that anger is a temporary feeling.
She doesn't.
They know that love is where it's at and nothing in life is worth hating for an extended period of time because it sucks the life out of you. (And the joy out of your existence).
She feeds off it.
They forgive.
That word is not in her vocabulary.
They will take responsibility when they've done something wrong and actually admit it. Ie; each party apologizes for their part in the argument.
I have never heard my mom take responsibility for any of her actions.
Not once.
And she has never apologized. (Unless you count the time she called me from a psych ward in Germany after a ten year absence and in a creepy voice, said; I'm going to hell Nicole... for all the bad things I've done, I'm going to hell...) [her shaky voice trailing off]
And finally, before the boys let anything get out of hand in their minds (or let their imagination run wild), they clear the air.
Sure, some of those arguments aren't pretty, but they never last. It's all out in the open and whoever is wrong will listen to the reasoning of the other and if warranted, is prepared to admit their part in it.
And usually they discover, it takes two.
My mom has never done either; Not clear the air, nor has she ever admitted being wrong.
No sirree. Not her. She stews and sits in it (whatever it is) until it festers like a pussing wound and she's on the verge of exploding green crap or that yellow bile stuff.
And that's usually when she writes... A LETTER.
The last one came a week ago. Just a few weeks after I saw her. She didn't send it to me as she doesn't know where I live. (There's a reason I maintain address anonymity).
Unfortunately she sent it to son #3 to "pass along to your mother".
Fortunately, he had the good sense to read the first paragraph and realize it was another hate mail letter and threw it out without reading further.
And stuffed in the middle of this 'novella' (as my son referred to it) was a card I had sent her, torn in half. I can imagine the frenzied state she was in to do such a thing.
Then again, maybe I don't want to.
Part of me was mildly curious as to the contents of that letter. (I do somewhat possess a morbid curiosity as to why and for what reason she despises me so venomously).
The other part was grateful my son had the good sense to throw it out and by so doing, disengage in the drama.
The only reason he told me about the letter in the first place is because I had expressed to him that in spite of her 'digs' I thought my "visit with Grandma" had gone relatively well and I was contemplating when I should see her again.
He convinced me otherwise.
Smart kid.
So over the last month, when I looked around at the nuclear fallout of clothes and neverending 'stuff' around me, and witnessed 3 young men work through the emotions associated with being split up geographically (amid all the last minute stress) I thought to myself;
It's time I stop worrying about whether they are going to never talk to each other again after a big fight.
It's time I remind myself that my mother's approach to conflict is not theirs and NOT the norm.
It's time to remember that I am not my mother and that my life in no way, shape or form, either reflects her philosophies nor patterns itself on her way of being.
Not anymore...
