Empathy

I have an unsettling demeanor.  Being an introverted stoic by nature, I can understand why people are put off by me.  Inside of me there may be a raging sea of emotions, but outwardly my composure is mostly calm.  If I had a dollar for every time I've been called "cold and unfeeling", Id be able to own my own Fortress of Solitude at the Arctic Circle.  This way of being, has been very useful over the years with strangers, coworkers, customers, etc... But, its not very helpful when dealing with family and friends.  There's a huge misunderstanding about me regarding empathy.  People tend to think that my lack of expressing emotions, is equvalent to lacking in empathy.  And that's not true.  I have a great deal of empathy, I can see and even relate to other peoples experiences on an emotional level.  I think the part that makes others mad at me, is that just because I empathize with someone, doesn't mean I feel obligated to do anything about it.

People need to deal with their own emotions, frustrations, disappointments.  Its not my job to fix you, especially if I have nothing to do with it.  As I said, this attitude of mine is not a problem when dealing with the outside world, but here, at home, there is Mom.  Mom who can no longer go grocery shopping, to be more specific. Who is dependent on her daughters for doing the shopping, getting the groceries, picking the fruits and vegetables, buying the meat and chicken.  Mom, who for as long as I can remember, was the only one who knew how to these things "the right way". Nitpicking enters a lot into this equation, which is an endless source of irritation.  Today it was because I bought a different brand of an item she wanted to use.  Nothing that is regularly used in the house, not because shes particularly loyal to the brand, but mostly it was because it was the first name she could think of when asking me to buy the item.

I bought a different brand name.

"How could I do such a thing? What was I thinking? I'm sure its not going to be as good as..." were some of the comments that kept coming out of her for a good long while.  I told her I brought her the product, not the label, because what I bought was cheaper and closer to what was going to be needed for the meal she wanted to make.  And since I'm the one who needs to prepare the thing, this was more suitable to what was needed.  Naturally, with hindsight, I should have just bought the label, but I didn't, because I didn't think it would be the source of any contention.  This is where the accusations of lack of empathy come in.  I didn't think about Mom, who can no longer shop, or do anymore those day-to-day tasks that gave her a sense of accomplishment .  I was being more practical than sensible. I did apologize and told her I'd go buy the brand name she wanted if she didn't want to use the product I brought home. Mom, being Mom. said "no," she didn't want me making any special trips just for her.  She gave me a quick look, there was a pause, I said "OK", then left the room.

I could hear her give out a loud sigh as I left. 

 My mother needs to recognize her mobility is limited and she now is dependent on others for the things she needs. After a life-time of taking care of herself and others I'm sure its incredibly frustrating for her to be in this position.  She often comments on how badly she is aging.  But its her journey, she needs to come to terms with it.  If the meat isn't as marbled as she would have chosen, if the chicken didn't come from the chicken place she always buys at, if the tomato isn't as red or the lettuce isn't as green as she would have picked, then so be it.  

Accepting ones limitations means relinquishing ones pride, fighting against that reality is fighting a loosing battle with too many casualties.

Nitpicking

For as long as I can remember, my Father (RIP), would complain about everything and everyone under the sun.  There was nothing on earth that didn't fail to satisfy him, except, maybe my Mothers cooking.  We never ate out, occasionally we'd go to a fast food restaurant, of which my Dad was particularly fond of.  But a real restaurant, I guess I could count on one hand the times we dined out.  My Fathers thinking was, if he could find a place that prepared food as well as Mom did, then he'd go.  But such a place didn't exist.  Mom would and continues to fondly quote Dad on that. I think it was just a convenient excuse to never have to go out anywhere.  Truth is Dad always had something to say about Mom's cooking.  Of course, first he'd  lick the plate clean and *then* start complaining.

I mention this, because now it seems Mom has taken up the mantel in Dad's absence, and this time Im the target.  Im not a bad cook. I went to Chef's school and earned my living cooking in restaurants and hotels.  Couldn't have been that bad.  But I don't cook like my Mom, who for 50 plus years, cooked for Dad.  Mom's rheumatic arthritis inhibits her mobility, thus cooking is an issue for her.  Her pressure is high, thus salt is an issue for her.  Its really a recipe for being one royal pain in the ass.

Limiting the salt intake was a nightmare.  Mom's idea of "tasty" equals salty.  If its not salty she wont eat it.  Literally she refuses to eat. She says it "gets stuck in her throat and she can't swallow it." And if she manages to get it down it gives her the heaves.  Its an ongoing battle with her over that.  When I cook I hear her swan song from across the TV room, "Make it TASTY!!" When she cooks, I have to hide the salt.

Then theres the issue of my cooking.  As I said, I don't cook like my Mom.  Despite having worked as a professional chef for many years, Mom still treats me as if I don't even know how to boil water.  When she was more mobile, we would prepare our own meals and eat together, but now shes forced to relinquish her pots and pans over to me and eat what I prepare.  So come mealtime, my Mother sits at the table with apprehension, already convinced she isn't going to like what I serve her. Its like running a race with everyone one lap ahead of you.  I understand that with more than 50 years of experience of cooking she's skeptical.  But what she doesn't realize is that shes been loosing her touch over the years.  Lately when she does cook, she ends up disappointed by the results.  Perhaps that's why shes so critical of my cooking.  Maybe shes unwilling to accept that age is catching up with her, affecting every aspect of her life.  Maybe shes unable to accept it, thus criticizing me is easier.

Dad may have complained about Moms cooking, but everyone else loved what she made.  She could cook and bake and always what she made was tasty and never lasted long.  Visiting family couldn't get enough of what she cooked and Mom was very proud of it.   She didn't have any talents, wasn't particularly smart never had any ambitions.  Her sisters and cousins all had made something of their lives, whether becoming professionals or being self employed, Mom wasn't ever anything more than a cashier.  But Mom could cook and they couldn't.  Nobody cooked as well as Mom and she was very proud of that fact.

Now she cant even do that anymore.  I suppose its a bitter pill to swallow.  Worse than swallowing my bland, mediocre meals.  The last time we sat at the table and she started doing the "Dad thing", I stopped her short.  I made it clear that I wouldn't tolerate that behavior.  I was open to her telling me how to cook meals to her liking, I was willing to do all the prep work for her so she could occasionally cook her meals.  But I was not willing to be subjected to criticism aimed at maintaining her sense of superiority.  She may have put up with it for over 50 years with her husband, I was not going to do the same with my Mother.

So now we sit, she eats, I observe.  I know when she likes something or not.  If she likes the meal, she'll eat it all, murmuring "tasty" in between bites.  If she doesn't like it, she eats in silence.  I wait till after the meal to ask her opinion and she freely offers it.  

Guess its all about finding the middle ground.