I've become me.

I know sons and daughters that have taken good care of their ailing mothers. With Alzheimer's. They became dedicated care-givers. For years and years. Made significant and meaningful sacrifices in their personal lives. To tend to their mothers. I think they are remarkable people. I admire them. However, I have to confess that I probably would not have done the same for my mother. If she had been ill for an extended time. And stricken with Alzheimer's. I loved mother very much. But I would not even have wanted to live with my mother when she was in good health. Again, let me say that I revered and respected and loved my mother. But our personalities conflicted to some extent. She was too much a perfectionist. For me, that is. Everything had to be neat. And in its place. Mother was too controlling. Not only of herself. But of others. Especially within the family. And in the last 20 years of her life, she was depressed to varying degrees. So many negative thoughts. A doomsayer. When my dear Jeanne and I would visit her for a weekend, we'd be exhausted. Just coping and dealing with her depression. We'd be depressed by the time we left. I'd breathe a sigh of relief as we drove away. That's not a very nice thing to say. But hey, I gotta be honest about it. Even having mother living nearby for two years was an ordeal. Having her live with us would have been a disaster. I'm sure Jeanne would have been ill at ease. Albeit, mother and Jeanne liked each other. But a daily dose of mother would have been too much for Jeanne to take. We both would have had a hard time with it. When I left home and went away to college, it was a good thing. Helped me to throw off the yolk of my mother. And allowed me to more easily exercise my independence. But it took me years to break free of some negative traits that I probably picked up from my mother. Of course, I latched on to some of mother's positive traits, too. I am what I am today in part because of my mother's positive influence. And we learned to effectively communicate and understand each other, especially in the late years of her life. I learned to be more forceful than my mother. To do things my own way. Not my mother's way. But still, there was something nice to say about mother's ways. Those ways were good for mother. Mother was being mother. Being herself. And I had no desire to change her. I just didn't want to be too much like her. I wanted to be me. And that's what I've become. Me. --Jim Broede