My husband and I arrived in Gulf Shores a day earlier than the rest of my dad's side of the family. We decided we would drive down on Friday because we were leaving a day early to come back for a music festival he was playing in Memphis. We got stuck in a hellacious (technical term) traffic jam because there is some major construction going on in Mobile on I-10. The GPS sent us the wrong way and it added an hour to our drive.
About 45 minutes from our hotel, my husband got a call from his brother. They don't talk super frequently, but he was so frustrated with the traffic (and the bitch GPS) that he just ignored the call until we got to the hotel. But before we arrived, I received a message from his wife that simply read, "Betty died today."
Betty is my husband's estranged mother. Estranged in the way that we have been together since 2010 and married since 2012 and I have never met her. Estranged in the way that he had to keep deciding every few years to cut ties with her because she was a toxic narcissist who manipulated his brother and half brother against him and each other. Estranged in the way you read about in psychology books regarding childhood trauma and the importance of maternal bonding (or lack thereof).
Since 2010, she has tried to come and go in his life whenever she wasn't the center of attention. Pale attempts at reestablishing a connection that hasn't existed since she abandoned him and his brother when he was 9. The first time I was supposed to meet her was his first time performing out, opening for a friend's band. She didn't show up. The next day, she posted a comment on his Facebook page about arriving too early.
My first instinct was to reply to her, "there's a really easy fucking way to remedy arriving early: you just sit your ass down and wait." But our relationship was new and we were still refusing to even call it a relationship. I didn't think it was my place to say that. I regret not saying it. I never ended up meeting her or having the opportunity to tell her what I thought of a woman like her and the damage she inflicted/continued to inflict upon other people; particularly her children.
I wasn't sure what repercussions to expect from that simple message, "Betty died today." Would he want to turn around and go back home after just arriving? He had decided two or three months ago that whenever her death arrived, he would not be attending her funeral. At the time it seemed like a far off proposition: a determination for his future self, certainly not something that would come so soon.
There was (again) some bullshit started among his brothers that I can only assume derived from her. There were some pretty hateful exchanges between us and his half brother. Then there were equally hateful things said between his brother and his half brother. My husband and I cut ties from his half brother and his mother (again) on social media, having only tentatively reestablished contact around a year before. It was the same cycle of coming and going that had happened every couple of years in the past.
At the first sight of the message, my husband seemed relieved. It was finally over. He firmly stated he would not be returning to Memphis for the service and that we would stay at the beach with my family. It was probably the best place for both of us. He had already decided not to go months ago, but being 7 hours away added an extra layer of finality to it. I hoped maybe some peace could be found watching the waves and thinking about it all to the soundtrack of sea birds and wind.
It was a hard week. It's hard being on vacation including 7 adult family members and a new baby anyhow. No matter the family or circumstance, everyone's expectations and routines are different. I watched my husband cycle through relief, sadness, melancholy, depression, anxiety, confusion, anger; did I miss anything? There were moments of peace and clarity, but always under a cloud.
We needed the vacation. We needed the relaxation, the break from life and working and responsibilities. I am not sure we got exactly what we needed, but I am glad we went. And I am glad we stayed. Seeing the collection of family members back in Memphis that were hanging out together in his absence (as if none of the hateful shit that was said a few months ago existed, as if the lifetime of her manipulation was imaginary), was some sort of online show of the ridiculous behavior that seems expected of families just because someone died.
This past Sunday, he performed at the music festival. Musically, his path over the past 8 years has been similar to the waves of the ocean. Opportunities coming and going, sometimes chaotic, sometimes slow, sometimes disappointing; always left to control that is not his. I was hopeful that his show would go well. The irony of her death coming a week before it is not lost on me. In the end, it seemed to be good for him; a distraction, if only temporary.
I have several friends who have had toxic mothers. I expect the death of Betty to be much like the others. The grief for the person who has died is not really the thing they felt. It is a grief for the relationship; the positive, motherly relationship that was never had. The death is just the end of the opportunity for reconciliation. But honestly, after a lifetime of this shit, what kind of reconciliation could you really have?
Betty will never know the damage she did to my husband. No one ever told her. It is not surprising that she was passing on abusive behavior of which she was once a victim. But she didn't have to do that. My husband is also a victim of abuse who is not passing it on to anyone else. You don't have to do that; you choose to do that. Everything in life is always a choice.
She chose herself and a revolving door of men (who didn't show up to her service, by the way) over her sons. The only thing my husband ever really wanted from her was for her to acknowledge what happened; even an apology was outside of the realm of expectations. But one super fun piece of an abusive narcissist is the gas-lighting. Nothing was her fault anyhow. What was there to admit to? What was there to apologize for?
I know that owning your own shit is not an easy process to work through. I was not abused as a child and just working through everything that goes on in my head has not been easy. I have people to call me out on my own bullshit that I am still blind to even now; though I consider myself to be fairly self aware. I feel like at least I am trying to change the script my life has followed so far.
I honestly hope that clarity came to her at the end of her physical life. I don't know that peace came to my husband on vacation, or will for some time. But I am personally relieved of the anxiety that goes along with the unknown of her periodic entrances and exits in our life together. What happens with his brothers remains to be seen. I think the lies and manipulation she used for years to pit them against each other is too deep-rooted for repair in some instances. I don't wish it to be that way, but there are some tangled webs you just cannot unweave.
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