The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Mother.

Yesterday, my sister P. called. She wanted to talk about our family friend, Gary, who died yesterday morning, and we did that while trying to sound matter-of-fact about his passing. Too much sentimentality might have been weird, considering we haven't seen or spoken to him in about six years, even if we were feeling sadder than we sounded. I said that I was concerned about his wife and children, that he was such a huge presence in their lives and in the community around him that his death will not be easy for anyone, and she grabbed on to the family theme, talking about how important familial harmony and love is.

'You know', she said slowly, 'I was talking to mom earlier and she said something that I think you should know, but you cannot repeat it.'

'Okay', I said with a hint of caution.

'She said that when she was with Katriona this past weekend, that she told her that you and M. fight a lot and that it scares her.'

'What?' I asked angrily.

'I know it probably isn't true and I told mom that, but I thought you should know.'

'It isn't true,' I stated flatly. 'Why would she be telling people that even if it were?'

'I don't know,' P. said quickly, 'maybe because she's crazy.'

Crazy as a fox.

The thing is, M. and I had one argument last week and we had it when we thought the wee one was absorbed in watching her television program downstairs. It was the marriage argument, the post-dinner misunderstanding and yes, my voice was louder than usual and yes, I was not happy at the time. The wee one eventually meandered into the room and positioned herself on our bed to listen, and when I asked her to leave, she said she wanted to stay because she 'innerested'. Shortly thereafter, the conversation ended because it was far too intense and personal to be shared with a confused four-year-old and I refuse to let anyone else in to personal matters between myself and M. I made that mistake with R., having verbal fights with him in earshot of people who were listening at the door or the adjoining wall, forming opinions. My mother is the last person I want to have know anything about my personal life. She's got a cruel, malicious streak in her that feeds on the misery of others.

I told M. about it, and he didn't seem to think it was a big deal. 'Your mother likes to cause trouble,' he said calmly, 'no one really listens to her.' But, they do, I said. She warps the ideas and impressions of other people who don't know the whole story. It's what she does, and her own children are not safe from it. Nothing is sacred to her. I told him that I don't like people gossiping about us, insinuating that we are 'having problems' because it gives the naysayers too much to work with. He countered that no one with a brain would listen to her anyway. You give my family too much credit, I said.

He and I don't fight all the time, and when we do argue, we generally keep it away from our little one. I grew up in a house of flying furniture and death threats, of horrible accusations and insults, of thrown punches and smashed glasses. I will never expose my child to that, or anything close to that. So far, M. and I have only thrown words at one another, and we are quick to diffuse the situation if she is anywhere near. I have been emphatic about keeping her little world as innocent as possible. No child should learn about fear and discord before they can write their own name.

What bothers me is that my mother not only formed a secret little association with my child (because I do not know when this supposed conversation took place given that I was with them the entire day), but that instead of talking to me about it with any kind of genuine concern and caring, she instead calls my sister to discuss it, telling her not to tell me that it was said. What's the point of that? What purpose would that serve? All that does is spread the lie, or if it were true, the misery. It doesn't help anything, only makes me trust my mother even less than I did before which I didn't think was possible.

I thought about discussing it with the wee one because if she's legitimately frightened, I need to know. M. told me he didn't think it was worth bringing up, that Katriona seems happy on the whole and that prodding her for information might cause more of a problem. I initially thought he was right, and then later, when she and I were alone, I took my own path.
I asked her if she thought daddy and I argue too much, and she shook her head. No, she said, you don't fight much. Do you get scared when we disagree? No, I like to listen, akshully, cuz it's innerestin. Would you tell me if you were scared? Sure, mom. Of course I would. She didn't look concerned or sheepish which leads me to conclude that she only made mention of the argument she'd heard and thought it would be worth telling grandma about for conversational purposes.

Sometimes, I wonder if my mother has any idea what she's doing when she opens her mouth. It's hard to find reasons to love her. I hardly try anymore.