Is the nightmare black or are the windows painted?

Today I borrow from Ringo Starr as well as Bernie Taupin:

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends, . .
Oh, I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends.

I’m skipping the second line because I don’t live in Colorado or Amsterdam.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

First, I took the blog down when I discovered that it was getting attention from unwelcome sources, and I became concerned that such attention might jeopardize my ability to get another job in this town.  Richmond is a small legal community with a big mouth.  So for now, the blog will focus on my personal situation. No more war stories.   

Second, my husband and I have been going back and forth on whether to sell our house.  It is way too big for just the two of us, once our youngest goes to college next fall.  Also, I’m hoping to get a new job doing something I love, which most likely means it won’t pay very much.   

After waffling back and forth for many weeks, we decided we must sell.

Problem is we forgot to tell my mom, who lives with us.  We thought we had been keeping her in the loop.  We have been discussing our situation every night at dinner, and my mom usually joins us for dinner.  Unbeknownst to me, she doesn’t always wear her hearing aid when she dines with us.  Either that, or she just doesn’t listen. 

Apparently, we forgot to mention that we finally settled on selling.  She found out when the painter showed up.  Big oops.

She’s not speaking to us right now.  This is the first fight my mother and I have had in my entire life.  Seriously.  The first and only one.  (Of course, she was gone during my teen-age years, when most mother-daughter fighting occurs).

And it is a doozy.

She’s 85 years old and doesn’t like change, and she’s very upset with us right now.  I don’t blame her.  But we can’t help that we have to sell the house.  We simply cannot afford it any more.

Both Billy and I have apologized profusely, but she refuses to accept our apologies.  She’s saying all sorts of hurtful things. She’s upset, but she also told my best friend that “sometimes it’s fun to be mean.”  So she’s milking the situation as well. 

She told my husband that everyone lets her down.  (Remember Christmas 1971?)  She told me not to invite her to dinner any more.  She got rid of her beloved dog (another spiteful move), so she has no reason to come downstairs except to go to the grocery store.  I told her I would check on her every day.  She said, “please don’t.”

I’ve offered to help her find a new place to live close to us.  She says she can’t afford anything.  We know that’s not true. My brother has invited her to live with him, but she doesn’t want to move to New Jersey.

She told my sister she wants to go home.  Home is Halifax.  The one in Canada, not southside Virginia.  My mother keeps her room hotter than a sauna in Mumbai.  How is she going to survive back in Nova Scotia?  Plus, all her relatives are dead, except for her brother in law, who recently became a widower when my mom’s sister died.  He loves to talk, and my mother likes the quiet.  I can’t imagine the two of them living together.

To sum up the current situation, I have no job, a house I can’t afford, and a mother who has cut herself off from me but still lives in the same house.   

It’s becoming more and more difficult to stay optimistic. I know that I have brought all this upon myself.  I have made many mistakes, some of them pretty big.

At the same time, I believe that this is all part of God’s plan.  Problem is, I can’t see what the plan is.  I pray every day for guidance. 

That’s where the help from my friends comes in.  If you believe in the power of prayer, please pray for me.  I’m not asking to win the lottery.  I’m just asking for guidance.  I need a little help from my friends. 

My favorite prayer is this:

God, shepherd me beyond my wants,
Beyond my fears,
From darkness into light. 

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