Asking for Help

Only in the last year of her life did Mom allowed us to push her around the Art Museum

One of my teeny tiny flaws is the inability to ask for help in a timely fashion. I usually wait until I am struggling, red in the face with exertion and completely frustrated before I'll finally ask for help. Then and only then, will I call out to Mr. G for assistance with a weed wacker that won't wack or start for that matter. Most recently this has surfaced because I can barely walk due to my wonky hip and finally agreed to see a surgeon. The hip replacement is inevitable and I'm not pleased but resigned to the obvious. So, I'm stubborn in my independence and not surprisingly this is a rather large club I belong to. In my work I've found many people who are also members. Since in humans this insistance on "I want to do it myself!" starts at age two, I believe it's not one of my finer qualities. Here's an example of someone else who is a proud member of the "I should be able do this myself" club.

I worked with an older gentleman, I'll call him Billy Bob*, several years ago. At the time BB was in his late sixties and he came to me with a complaint about his nearly ninety year old mother, "Priscilla*". BB had to put her in a local nursing home, as she was starting to lose her balance. "Priscilla's been the bain of my existence," he said. "Listen to this: I was at the nursing home, bending over to tie my shoe and she tried to correct how I was doing it! I was just fuming."  I said my usual, "tell me more," and BB fleshed out his tale. "I grew up as an only child with this critical, demanding 'Southern belle' and my father was a pious preacher."  BB still resented his upbringing and especially his Mother each day, even all of the days and years they live apart. I said, "what a pile of energy you've put into this resentment! Let's get busy letting go of that." Now that BB was attending to Priscilla on a daily basis, BB was going to have to learn some new strategies ASAP.

"You've come to the right place," I said, "my Mother was a critical person also and I believe I have a strategy that could work for you. First of all, you're on the right track, asking for help will enable you to broaden your options for responding to your Mom." Frankly he looked almost ashamed that he was asking for help and that seemed hauntingly familiar to me. "Secondly, the key word here is responding, you've spent a lifetime reacting. So, tell me what do you and Mom do together?" A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes, and he said, "I realize though I love the many women, the only one I don't have any fun with is my mother."

I learned early on with my Mom that I had to address the criticism in a lighthearted but firm manner. Then the rest was easy for the two of us, we forged an indelible bond over Scrabble and books. At my encouragement, Billy Bob devised a new plan and very soon became one of those people who only late in life grows to appreciate the mothers that they got.

My strategy for him was simplistically obvious: I said, "Be aware of how amusing southern belles can be and then report all of the amusing stories to me and your friends." Needless to say, her behavior was over the top, one of the best descriptions of comedy. Since this man had a wicked sense of humor, what happened next was really fun.

Billy Bob began squiring his mother all around our small town. Priscilla proceeded to run at the mouth with her outrageous demands, observation and requests. Guess what? People were delighted by her. "Here she is almost 90, and she's flirtatious and treats everyone as if they're about to do her bidding." He was laughing as he told me this. Shopkeepers, waitresses, his friends, his neighbors, joined in the fun and really enjoyed her. This also unleashed a joyous appreciation in my client. In the end, Billy Bob was dear, kind and tickled to be with Priscilla, an attitude he kept for the last four years of her life. Priscilla died happy and Billy Bob was touched and proud of those last years. He learned to let go of who he imagined she was [a bitchy demanding crank who was purposefully trying to piss him off] and learned to appreciated her finer qualities: love, loyalty, the sharp mind, the biting sense of humor and yes, the adoration of a son who she kept trying to 'tweak' to perfection until her last breath. Amen.

I am so grateful that I learned to find my mother amusing and  I also was joyous in her company to boot.

The moral of this story for all of the Billy Bobs out there: it is so worth it to ask for help, it's expeditious.

Amuch loved and appreciated Mother who could be over the top sometimes

*Obviously these are pseudonyms and I mixed up some of the facts of this case with others.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.