Chapter 12 - I HAD TO ADMIT WHAT I MISSEDTherapy was not only for Mom.
I went too.
At first, I hated it.
My therapist asked:
“What signs did you notice before Toronto?”
I said:
“Vanessa and Mom were tense.”
“What else?”
“Mom called less.”
“What did you make that mean?”
“That she was adjusting.”
“What else?”
“She stopped asking the driver for help.”
“What did you make that mean?”
“That her hip was improving.”
“What else?”
“She said Vanessa was strict.”
“What did you make that mean?”
“That they had personality differences.”
My therapist leaned back.
“You gave every warning the interpretation that required the least action.”
That hurt because it was true.
I did not cause Vanessa’s conduct.
I did not know she was manufacturing confusion.
But I repeatedly chose convenient explanations.
Why?
Because I wanted the arrangement to work.
My recovering mother in my house.
My wife handling things while I traveled.
My company deal progressing.
Everything manageable.
Asking better questions might have forced changes.
So I did not ask.
That was mine.
When I told Mom, she said:
“Don’t turn this into a lifelong guilt hobby.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like something my therapist would say.”
May you like
“Then you’re overpaying her.”
Still Mom.
Related Stories
