Not Becoming My Mother
“Portnoy As Mom grew older her despair deepened and she became increasingly erratic. Sometimes she was so filled with manic energy that she didn’t sleep at all. Waking in the middle of the night, I’d hear her fingers tapping on the typewriter, or the vacuum cleaner sucking up dust in the dark. But other times she’d refuse to get out of bed, lying prone for weeks on end, unwilling to leave her room. Dad was puzzled, and he watched her with anxious eyes, wishing he had some way to make her happy.
I could sense his relief when she was in a good mood, and he always chose to be amused by her giddier schemes. He laughed when she painted the bathroom gold, even though every bath left us slightly gilded. He thanked her for each outrageous meal, loyally insisting that she was a wonderful cook. And when she bought a painting we could not afford, he said, as he took on extra work, that it was sure to be a good investment. But when she stayed in bed for months he gently suggested that she see a ps...ychiatrist.MoreLess
I could sense his relief when she was in a good mood, and he always chose to be amused by her giddier schemes. He laughed when she painted the bathroom gold, even though every bath left us slightly gilded. He thanked her for each outrageous meal, loyally insisting that she was a wonderful cook. And when she bought a painting we could not afford, he said, as he took on extra work, that it was sure to be a good investment. But when she stayed in bed for months he gently suggested that she see a ps...ychiatrist.MoreLess
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