Scapegoat

Right now, I am the scapegoat for all my mom's ills and problems. Not complaining...it just is how it is here. I knew this going in to this new living arrangement...that Alex would be the hero, the genius, the nice one.  Mom would never be able to admit she has any faults.  I would be the one who is bossy, a brat, moody, and difficult to get along with.  I cause her problems.  I don't buy the right milk. I don't cook her rice correctly. She has a cold because I keep the house too cold. If I ask her what she wants to do today, she asks me why I am so nosy. I treat her like a baby. That old saying "damned if I do, damned if I don't" definitely applies.  

 

I felt that urge to nay and bleat again tonight at the dinner table--that storm I referenced earlier is still brewing...just over the horizon, being held off by a competing low pressure system and El Nino and a couple of leftover hydrocodone I think she found in her purse. Mind you, just 30 minutes earlier I had rubbed pain relief cream all over her back, turned on the fireplace, and walked her dog, washed all the dishes, folded her laundry, and carried it all downstairs.  

To set the stage for what happened next, this morning I received a phone call from the home health nurse--the one who comes out for ostomy leaks and such. The one Mom has been trying to convince she is incapable of changing her own ostomy bag.  Well, with that storm brewing, Mom has been really zeroing in on how no one believes she can take care of herself, that she raised five kids, that she is independent. Back to that phone call...the nurse told me early this morning that sometime late last night Mom called the on call nurse at the home health agency and told them "I don't need you people any more." (probably right after she demanded Alex to cough up the car keys to HER car). News to me, but not surprising. This is, after all, my mom we are talking about. So, Alex and I decide to talk to Mom about it over dinner (my poor husband actually believes Mom listens.) 

Okay, so back to dinner. After dinner, we remind Mom Alex and I are going out of town for three days next weekend. She can come with us, or she can stay here. Then I tell her about the early morning phone call from the nurse, and we both express how we think it wiser to not prematurely cancel the service especially since she will be alone. Yeah, that didn't go over too well, but the one from way outta left field came when we were telling her we care about her and that is why we are concerned, not because we think she is helpless, but because it puts our anxiety at rest to know she has someone to reach out to. Next thing out of her mouth is "I know, Barbara is so moody and difficult and I just cannot fathom what is wrong with her. You're not like that, Alex." Right, the man who only 5 minutes later wanted to argue about the correct direction for a ceiling fan to turn in winter vs summer. For an hour. He is logical and even tempered.  

Being a scapegoat is so fun. And yes, I know the original meaning of a scapegoat comes from the Old Testament, the act of symbolically putting all the sins of a community on a goat and sending that goat into the desert. And yes, I could do some in-depth, insightful comparison about how Jesus is our scapegoat, or rather the sacrificial lamb, bearing all our sins.  

But you all are already there, right? You get the picture. And yes I know my problems are trivial. And temporary. But sometimes I just want to whine a little bit. Or bleat. It makes me feel better. I am only human, you know.  

A human scapegoat.