The Bad Daughter February 20, 2003 - 4:11 a.m.

One good thing about talking to my brother last night was hearing him say he knows how it feels... being there, in that house, with her.

She's the reason he moved to the other side of the country. She's part of the reason that he shot himself when he was 20. She's the reason he never made anything of himself, until he left.

Maybe I resent him for that. For leaving. For getting away while he had the chance.

He even said himself that he's relying on me to help Mom out, because he can't. Or, more precisely, won't. He doesn't want to be around her other than an occasional visit. He realizes she's our mom so he has to be in her life, but otherwise stays away.

He's put the responsibility of her onto me. I see myself becoming my aunt. She's the youngest of 15 children (yes, I have lots of aunts and uncles) and each and every one of her siblings has left her to take care of their Mom, my grandmother. Normally, I'd think no big deal. But she has dementia. She's going deaf, or pretends to be. She doesn't know who people are, yet she knows the life story of every single person she sees without ever talking to them. She never leaves the house. She's the type of person to turn the oven on to make soup, and forget about it, causing a fire.

I see my mom becoming this person.

I see myself as my aunt, the person having to take care of this crazy person.

Why can't I just be a good daughter and take care of mommy like I'm supposed to, without any whining?

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