Mother worry

I remember saying to someone that it was easier to worry about her at my house than to worry about her from two hours away, but that turns out to have been a lie.

It’s harder to worry about her here. When she was living away I worried about her only intermittently, for the space of a phone call and for an hour or two afterward. Then, my regular life would take over and I’d forget about worrying about my mother until I remembered to call her again or she called to remind me. Now, she’s here and I worry about her almost non-stop. It’s worse than worrying about my kids because she is better than they are at getting my attention and getting me to do things for her. I jump when she asks because I’ve been trained to do it since I was small. I resist, sometimes, and I’m successful in my resistance, sometimes. Mostly, she asks for something and I do it immediately. I don’t try to negotiate, like I do with my children.