I remember vividly a time when I was running late for school. Classes had already begun, and I hadn't even left my house. I was in a panic looking for my book bag. I found it, and headed for the door only to be detained by my mother.
"Tammy! Do not wear that red shirt to school!"
"Mom, I am already running late to class. I need to go!"
"Tammy, there is a bull running up and down the street. If the bull sees your red shirt, he will run you down and kill you!"
At that moment I had no patience for my mother's mental illness. I was running late for school, and I yelled at her in a rage.
"Mom, you are crazy! There is no bull! I am already late! I can't change my shirt. I don't have time."
"Tammy, change your shirt! The bull will be attracted to the red in your shirt. Don't wear it to school!"
Instead of arguing, I simply left, and slammed the door in the process.
Today as I reflected on this event in my life, I became sorrowful. In the heat of the moment, all I could see was my tardy slip. It never occurred to me that my mother really believed there was a vicious bull roaming the streets. This means that through out the day, she had a fear that I would be attacked by a bull. This belief may have been irrational, but it was real for my mother. She thought her daughter was in real danger. I was angry, and she was genuinely concerned for my welfare. She probably faced a full day of fear and worry, until I returned home.
How often has my anger and rationality demeaned my mother's emotions? My mother often hands me a piece of jewelry, and mentions it is worth millions of dollars. I know for a fact the ring is a piece of junk that cost $9.00 at Wal-Mart. Yet, she gives it to me freely. She believes that the ring is worth millions, and she GIVES it to me. Even in her delusion and insanity, she has a heart of gold. I don't know many people that would give me a jewel worth a million dollars.
Today I witnessed something mysterious about my mother's illness. My mother went over to my father, and told him another tall tale. Something that isn't and couldn't be true. Then she leaned in to kiss him. He kissed her. I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.
"What is it like? Kissing her when she says things like that?"
My dad seemed to groan at my question as if it shouldn't be asked. His face seemed to say- She is my wife, and kissing her need not be explained or questioned. I know my dad is faithful, but it pains me to know that her love is motivated out of delusions. Her love, though motivated and manipulated by delusion, is still potent and powerful.
