My mother returned safely home and Rob and I were so exhausted in the aftermath that we both fell asleep early last night :/

For me, it's an emotional thing. My mother, previously the Strongest Woman Alive, can barely walk. She repeats herself. And, in something that rather upset me over the weekend, appears to be reinventing her history. Which of course means that my history is changing too, and having adjusted to the past as I know it, I'm reluctant to embrace a new past.

Then again, what difference should it make to me that my mother retells stories that I grew up hearing, only now they are different -- with different motivations, desires and outcomes? I'm still who I am, and a lot of who I am is because of who I believed my mother to be as I was growing up, yet it should't affect me now to hear that things I'd thought were true maybe weren't.

How do the rest of you deal with the past if your parents changed it after you grew up?

Overall it was an enjoyable visit, but filled with stress. I can tell that I'm not patient or kind-hearted enough to deal with my mother on a daily basis, should her health fail and she need to live with someone. :/ I won't soon forget leaping out of my bed in panic with her at the bedroom door calling me, only to find that her midnight emergency was that Mittens had pooped in the hallway and she had stepped into it (fortunately while wearing house slippers) in the dark. As I stumbled bleary-eyed around picking up the mess and Resolving the carpet, she announced, "Luckily I cleaned most of it up," then disappeared into her room. I was filled with resentment and anger that she could say that while I was still cleaning -- and then I went into the bathroom and had to mop the floor as she'd apparently been on her way into the bathroom when she'd found Mittens' little gift. It seemed to me that if she lived with me, this would be my life: cleaning up after her when she'd felt she'd already taken care of everything and went serenely on her way, leaving me in a trail of bitterness in her wake.

I miss my mother as the Strongest Woman Alive. She gave me the strength of mind to do stuff like rewire lamps, install new faucets, replace car air filters and change the innards of my toilet tanks without thinking that a man might come along to do these things for me. Also, I suppose some of it is worry that I'll grow older and turn into her and I kind of like me the way I am now.

My mother returned safely home and Rob and I were so exhausted in the aftermath that we both fell asleep early last night :/

For me, it's an emotional thing. My mother, previously the Strongest Woman Alive, can barely walk. She repeats herself. And, in something that rather upset me over the weekend, appears to be reinventing her history. Which of course means that my history is changing too, and having adjusted to the past as I know it, I'm reluctant to embrace a new past.

Then again, what difference should it make to me that my mother retells stories that I grew up hearing, only now they are different -- with different motivations, desires and outcomes? I'm still who I am, and a lot of who I am is because of who I believed my mother to be as I was growing up, yet it should't affect me now to hear that things I'd thought were true maybe weren't.

How do the rest of you deal with the past if your parents changed it after you grew up?

Overall it was an enjoyable visit, but filled with stress. I can tell that I'm not patient or kind-hearted enough to deal with my mother on a daily basis, should her health fail and she need to live with someone. :/ I won't soon forget leaping out of my bed in panic with her at the bedroom door calling me, only to find that her midnight emergency was that Mittens had pooped in the hallway and she had stepped into it (fortunately while wearing house slippers) in the dark. As I stumbled bleary-eyed around picking up the mess and Resolving the carpet, she announced, "Luckily I cleaned most of it up," then disappeared into her room. I was filled with resentment and anger that she could say that while I was still cleaning -- and then I went into the bathroom and had to mop the floor as she'd apparently been on her way into the bathroom when she'd found Mittens' little gift. It seemed to me that if she lived with me, this would be my life: cleaning up after her when she'd felt she'd already taken care of everything and went serenely on her way, leaving me in a trail of bitterness in her wake.

I miss my mother as the Strongest Woman Alive. She gave me the strength of mind to do stuff like rewire lamps, install new faucets, replace car air filters and change the innards of my toilet tanks without thinking that a man might come along to do these things for me. Also, I suppose some of it is worry that I'll grow older and turn into her and I kind of like me the way I am now.