When my dad was dying, the mantra around my parents house was that most people were never told he was ill because “dad was a very private man”. Sure, I knew my dad didn’t often talk about himself and hated to have people poke through his possessions, but I never realized how strongly I shared this attitude until recently.<\/p>\n
It may seem that I’ll write about anything when I’m blogging, but that’s not 100% accurate. I self-edit before I ever hit the publish button. There are a number of things I just don’t write about. As therapeutic as blogging can be I still have limits to the degree of self-confession that appears on these pages. Amazingly enough, despite the limits I’ve imposed on myself, I’ve still managed to pour a large chunk of my guts out over the blog-o-sphere.<\/p>\n
A few months ago I’d learned that our pet sitters had pawed through our family photo albums while we were on vacation. The hubby couldn’t understand why I found this so offensive considering the albums were left on a shelf in the den only a few feet from the television.<\/p>\n
Tonight, I have been watching my mom paw through other family albums and boxes of momentos and the longer it continues, the more my skin crawls. I’m offended that she doesn’t see anything wrong with going through my things without first asking for permission. I’m annoyed that she’s pulling photos and certificates out and demanding answers or details surrounding them – information I’d be lucky to pull out of my head after a good 15-30 minutes of hard thought…<\/p>\n
Mostly, I’m angry with myself for sitting here quietly, typing out my feelings rather than just coming out and saying something about it. So why don’t I? Mom just doesn’t see anything wrong with her behaviour. I’ve tried asking her not to do things in the past and explain my point of view. She sees the world differently than I and just can’t imagine a world view that doesn’t match her own. I learned decades ago it’s better to sit down, shut up, and just let her do what she wishes rather than trying to get her to respect my wishes, opinions, or personal space.<\/p>\n
Maybe someday I’ll grow a backbone again.<\/p>\n
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