Expectations and I...

My mother never calls me. Well, sometimes she does, and that usually is bad news. Someone died. But, wait, even then, she doesn't always call me. Until, recently, when it became apparent that I have a car, a driver's license, and live in the bigger town that has all the fun stores, like See's Candies and Trader Joe's. Gee, lucky me. For many years, I thought that my mother had to change for me to be happy. Then I got sober, and that job fell on ME. Yes, I was the one who had to change, to let go of needing this very difficult woman to love me the way I think I SHOULD be loved. Placing an expectation on my mother is like throwing a grain of rice at a starving person. Just isn't going to do any good at all. If, by chance, she does give me a compliment, I could get all gooey and begin to think, wow, she's changed! Now we can get all touchy feely blissful together! And, yes, I still have those thoughts. Then I remember, oh, it's my MOTHER I am talking about here. That is so not going to happen. So, this morning, she called. I was dozing and didn't pick up. My chirpy little telephone told me it was HER. After I ate my French toast and sipped my Sumatra, I steeled myself and called her back, expecting calamity, like Dad died or little brother had another stroke. Instead, she wants me to pick up a 2 lb. box of See's soft centers for Dad. Okay, I can do that. I let go of needing her to thank me for this. That wasn't happening, either. All this angst left lines in the cowwoman's face, and a steely strength in her heart. It forced me to learn to love the one that is most important in this equation, ME. And now, I don't need HER to love me in that way. I can accept that she probably does love me. In her way. Never going to change. Doesn't have to any more.