Sins of the Mother

I went to visit my mother in the nursing home the other day, and she was lying on her bed. She is supposed to be a Christian now, so I asked her if she had asked God to forgive her sins, which is a necessity to go to heaven in the Christian religion.

She looked ahead with a half-grin and said, “How do you know I have any sins?”

To most people, that would have been considered a joke. But that may not be a joke to my mother, because once my mother told me in no uncertain terms that my grandmother thought she was perfect, and she was.

She didn’t act like she was joking at that time.

For some reason, when she made that statement in the nursing home, it made me angry. How dare she be so arrogant to think she is perfect!

The Bible says, “If anyone says they are perfect, there is no truth in them.” I thought of asking her about her sins again, but I realized it was useless. My mother is going to think, do, and say whatever she wants, regardless of anything someone else says. She is stubborn, and it’s out of my hands.

My mother was not a good mother, and she did the complete opposite of what any good mother would do. She favored my brother and stepfather, who were as bad as she was.

I had hated my mother since I was five years old.

After I moved out of my mother and stepfather’s house, my brother didn’t speak to me for 30 years, harassed me, and told his friends to call me names because we didn’t get along as children.

Then, a year before he died, my brother got saved, and he began to take my mother to church, although I received no apology. When my brother died, I thought maybe God wanted my brother to take my mother to church so it would be easier for her to accept my brother’s death.

I was to have no inheritance, and everything was to be left to my brother, (this knowledge was kept from me) but their plans took an unexpected turn because my brother died. All of a sudden they felt they had to rush to put the inheritance in my name, and we went to their lawyer to change the will.

After my brother died, my mother told me she knew there was a God.

Then the tyrant, who was my stepfather, died, and everything changed.

My mother asked me what kind of flowers she should buy for my stepfather and where to go to buy them. This was very unusual. My mother never asked for my advice or opinion on anything. I thought maybe she was used to having my step-father make all the decisions.

I think what I said was, “It’s your money,” but later I suggested a dozen white roses, but she bought carnations instead because they were cheaper.

Then I was a few minutes late for my stepfather’s funeral. My mother’s normal response would be, “What’s wrong with you? You should have been here on time!” in a nasty voice.

But instead, when I walked in the funeral home, she said, “I’m glad you’re here; I was worried about you.” in a nice voice.

From then on, for the first time in my life, my mother acted like she liked me.

Years later, when I had my pacemaker put in, I asked my mother to visit me in the hospital. She said, “No, but I still love you.” I was 68 years old, and it was the first time my mother told me she loved me.

When I couldn’t go home from the hospital and I would have to go to the nursing home if I didn’t have someone there with me, and I asked my mother if I could come to her house, and again she said, “No.”

But my mom did cash in all the insurance policies she had that I was supposed to receive when she died, kept half of the money from them, and gave me the other half. That is when I forgave her for all the things she had done against me my whole life.