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As our Bible study group began focusing on the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20, I felt pretty smug. After all, I didn't worship more than one God, steal, commit adultery or murder, lie about my neighbors, or plot to cheat them out of what was rightfully theirs. But one evening we came to the command to honor our father and mother (v. 12).
Against my will, I thought of my mother, who'd passed away ten years earlier. Honor her, when I felt more relief than sorrow at her death? The tears I cried at her funeral were those of an adult daughter who had never heard the words I most needed from her: "I'm proud of you."
My birth was Mother's "midlife surprise." When my father died less than four years later, I gave her a reason to go on. But in many ways my mother treated me like a small adult, and our relationship developed into an unhealthy codependency. Her attempts to shelter me from the world's influences only fueled my insecurities; I grew from a spoiled child into an anxious, introverted adolescent.
Complicating matters, Mother battled deteriorating health and depression, but because of the rigid faith-healing religion she adhered to, she shunned medical intervention.
By the time I reached my teens, my mother had sunk into a state of apathy. The more I attempted to earn her praise—with high grades, awards, and interscholastic competitions—the more rejected I felt by her indifference. During my senior year, I earned a major role in a drama production that she never attended. Her only explanation was, "I didn't feel up to it."
The following years were the same. When at age 20 I met the man I'd later marry, my mother openly resented him. Her bigoted remarks about his ancestry horrified us both. During more rational moments, she showed brief motherly interest in our wedding plans, but at the last minute threatened not to attend. I cursed the cruelty of a God who took away my father and left me with an ill, elderly mother who seemed impossible to please.
After my wedding, Mother's downward spiral continued. Our visits usually deteriorated into criticisms about how I raised my children, reproach for my leaving the church in which she'd raised me (my husband had led me to a true faith in Christ), and unfavorable comparisons to other family members who "obviously" loved her more than I did.
Mother's poor health made travel difficult, and as a busy mom of two, I came up with excuses to avoid traveling to visit her. I let my older brothers worry over her. In the meantime, I struggled through sev-eral rounds of counseling to deal with low self-esteem and depression, all of which I blamed on my mother.
Mother's health finally worsened to the point she committed herself to a nursing home. I attempted a few family visits, hoping she'd enjoy seeing her granddaughters. But she showed little interest in them and often received me with such hostility that I left in tears. Congestive heart failure finally ended her life; she died a bitter, lonely woman.
It wasn't until after my mother's death that I made the connection between her physical illness and her mental state. When I discussed her health symptoms with my physician, he suspected the culprit was hypothyroidism, which left untreated can lead to serious physical and psychological problems, including personality changes and even psychosis. Grasping the role Mother's illness played in our broken relationship, I resented even more her tenacious reliance on the pseudo-Christian faith-healing religion I already blamed for taking my father before his time.
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