St. Bill the Wanderer

Out of curiosity, I make myself listen to the insipid message.

As we know, it is largely a question of what my plans are for her. Where she stands. If I want her in my life.

Loaded questions all. I don’t think a child should have to answer that at any age. I don’t think a parent should ever think those thoughts. But maybe that is just how I believe parents should be.

Moving on to the next topic, she notes that she is extremely happy for me and Scott and our family. (Though it would be tricky to discern her happiness from her crankiness.) She wants me to think back to all the times she was on my side.

Shouldn’t she have been? And not for anything, Ma, but I’ve defended you for decades. And that wasn’t always an easy thing. The difference is, I am not expecting a payback.

She wants to remind me that Bill has ALWAYS been generous – and here is the point where I decide she must have gone mad – “not only with money, but with his time.”

Is she talking about the same Bill? We-don’t-have-a-prenup-your-brother-isn’t-getting-anything-from-me-that-money-is-all-mine-I’ll-take-it-with-me-to-Hell-itself Bill?

I can’t remember even a single instance where money has passed from Bill to me, even through Mom’s hands…unless of course you are talking about $20 to take myself out to lunch on my birthday or something like that. Money has never played a starring role in our relationship. It isn’t even a walk-on extra.

And time? She must be delusional. My most stinging recollection of a moment of clarity about Bill was when I realized that he left town when I visited.

A few years ago, when Hil and Pat were daycare ages, I worked part time. Every other week, I had Wednesday and Thursday off from work. Mom had moved for the second time by then and was living in a cute university town on a river about 2 hours away. I would routinely pack a bag for me and the kids, schlep some of their gear to the car, prepare snacks for the road, and after work on Tuesday, I’d trek down the highway with the kids to visit for a few days. Breeze home in time for dinner on Thursday. Spend the interim doing fun things with Mom and the kids.

And then I noticed a pattern. Bill would be in bed when I got there – and he’d be gone in the morning before I rose. Mom would tell me his friend was doing this or that and he was going to join him for a few days, or another friend was visiting a nearby place and Bill was going to take him fishing, or some other pressing thing was taking him somewhere else, conveniently for the two very days I was visiting.

For nearly 18 months this went on. I would visit, he would scram. The only time he didn’t was when I brought Lars with me for Easter. He even did it when I visited the next house they bought. And I only went there once. And let's not even pretend that last year's visit to the cottage was to see me and the kids. That was simply a convenient place to sleep while they were house hunting, and the trip was conveniently and abruptly cut short in favor of hunting elsewhere.

Blood a-boil again, I click the “end’ button to save the rest of the message for when I am not so likely to throw up at my desk.