An extra day… wasted

You would think that my parents would have been happy that our flight got cancelled, meaning they’d have an extra full day to spend time with Kaia. While my mom said she was happy because it’d mean she would see Kaia more, she didn’t take advantage of it at all. She spent the morning doing “chores” – sweeping the floor, scrubbing the back sink, cleaning out who knows what bins. Then, she went to her JW meeting and was out of the house for three hours. When she came back, she left AGAIN to take a walk for “exercise.” She was probably gone another hour. My dad? He was a lost cause. He was watching some WWII movie when we went out for a walk and to the Columbarium and back, and he didn’t make any effort to play with Kaia at all, except when my mom would force him to. “You need to spend some time playing with her. She’s going to leave soon. Play with her NOW!” My dad would make stupid excuses, “Well, I have to get ready to leave in 20 minutes.” Umm, that’s… 20 minutes from now.

My mom barely said much to me other than to suggest I eat or drink things, criticize what I was doing with Kaia, or to pick a fight with me this past Monday. My dad said even less to me. He just asked about random medications and supplements he saw I had in the bedroom, and that was really it. We had no real conversation at all during the 5-ish days we spent together. It was annoying, strained, and not enjoyable at all. My mom put up her usual act when my aunt was around to be cheerful and overly effusive. My dad acted like his usual childish self and constantly had to be told what to do by my mom and served food. It was the usual and expected stuff.

Yet somehow, despite all this, as she usually does after I leave, when I talked to her today, she said I needed to stay longer next time. Stay longer — for what? She finds it impossible to not pick fights with me and bicker over senseless things. She criticizes how Chris and I parent our child (which I expected, so I was barely annoyed with it). She and my dad barely talk to us at all. She kept telling Kaia that “your mother is bad! She doesn’t want you to eat (this)! She won’t give you a blanket! She won’t let you do (that)! She’s very bad!” But I let it all go because I really didn’t care, plus I know at this age, Kaia doesn’t totally understand what she’s even saying.

Even if there was no passive aggression, no criticism, no fights, and no hostility, and even if their son hadn’t died from suicide, the air would still be uncomfortable there because of all the clutter and junk they hoard and pile up. It’s physically uncomfortable being there. And I really do worry for their safety with all the junk, as they could easy fall and get into accidents… or worse, even die from a fall. They just don’t get it at all when I try to warn them and they think that I am the one who criticizes! My mom says to me, “Not everyone is high class like you,” or “not everyone lives in luxury like you do,” or “Just don’t say anymore!” Seriously?

That house is truly the house of terror, the house of misery, of suffering. I even felt weird bringing Kaia there and felt more paranoid about her potentially choking on food there just because of the bad omens. I was a lot more careful with preparing her food than I normally am because of the negative vibes. That’s how ridiculous that house is to me. Nothing thrives or grows in that house. Things only go there to die.

I guess I always futilely hope that something will change, that maybe they could have just a few moments of being happy. I suppose that’s why I keep going back. But I am always let down.

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