Opening and slamming doors

Stockholm 1989.

There is this day of maximization. Our children is two and four. We have invited my husbands best friend for dinner. He is on his way. At the same times I get the phone call from our friends. Their third baby is on it’s way. And almost at the same time as the father, the vert pregnant mother and their two and three year old stands in our hall way on the fourth floor.

It’s a bit to much now, as it is. The siblings crying for the parents who are of to the maternity ward, and me also being responsible for the cooking. Our guest loves my cuisine.

And then I hear someone opening the door, and entering. My mum steps into this semi-chaos. She came without a notice, and I am about to panick. How shall I handle the siblings, our children, the food, being a wonderful hostess and also taking care of my Mother.

My husband already knows this is an equation for losers. It’s like that game when you show four photos and you have to let go of one. And now it’s evident that my Mother has that card. She needs to leave, to make the situation supportable.

My husband takes me in to the diningroom. He whispers to me that I need to set a boundary to my Mother and do it now. I feel like a scared little child. I ask him to ask her. And he says: ”It’s your Mother, it’s your work”. I would like to act as the little child, to scream and have a tantrum on the floor. And I know it’s not the moment for that (will it ever be again?). So I take a deep breath, and walk towards our hall way.

It’s just a matter of seconds, but still I am filled of guilt, even before I have spoken to my Mum. It’s like I am transformed into guilt, and I remember when she almost succeeded in her suicide attempt som years ago. And I don’t want to be the person provoking her to make a foolish act. And at the same time I know it’s really time to take a stand.

– This is not a very good moment, Ma, I would like you to leave. And next time, please, phone me in advance, an I can tell you if it’s works…

I intend to say more, with a smothe voice. But anger is already in my Mothers face, and even before she acts, the guilt becomes extremely strong, and I feel like a murderer. What if I am about to kill my Mother, by forcing her to leave our flat?

She looks at me with her darkest look, she throws the key on the floor. She pushes the door open with anger, and then slams it, while I hear her enter the elevator.

And I stand there, filled with fear, hoping that we will survive as mother and daughter.

I look at the phone every day. I am waiting for her call. I ”know” that I have to wait for her. That she needs to call me, otherwise, we will go back to the old pattern. I am worried, no I am actually terrified by her silence. And I am on the verge to phone her. And I resist that temptation.

Fourteen days later she calls.
A new era has begun.