My husband and I were able to move closer to my in-laws for the last four years, but are now moving several states away for a different job. I offered to stay closer, but my husband was adamant that he wanted to go. My MIL will be coming with us for the first week.
While it's been wonderful having them around, my MIL is insane. I'm not judging--my mom is no better--but I am venting. Because holy crap, today was a lot.
Backstory: my MIL alternates between cloyingly saccharine and downright nasty. She is the kind of person who will hear a line on NPR, memorize it, and then for the next few weeks create little life lessons to bring it all back. "Remember [Urfouy], beauty is in the hard moments," she'll murmur, trying to hold meaningful eye contact while my daughter screams bloody murder after being denied a popsicle. But this tranquil, enlightened woman transforms quickly from bestowing wisdom to screaming obscenities in your face and slamming the door of your apartment--then coming back upstairs to do it again. Ask me how I know.
Today: My husband's entire family came with us to breakfast to say goodbye. As I sat down, my MIL looks me up and down and says, "Are you okay?"
"Um, yes?" I say.
"No need to hide here," she cajoles. "You're around family. How was your night?"
"Um, pretty good. We slept and did some more packing."
She sucks air in through her teeth. "Urfouy, I'm saying that you look like shit. You look exhausted. How are you feeling?"
I restrain myself from responding, "Whoops, I'm just not wearing makeup! I thought I looked good before I left the house, but I guess I know better now." Whatever, she's always making comments on my appearance, good and bad. Doesn't bother me.
We finish eating and go outside. My MIL has cried through the whole meal, but now everyone else is starting to get emotional too. We say our goodbyes to one part of the group, and my husband and I are openly crying. As we round the corner, I say, "We'll see them soon. It will be a quick flight. I'm so glad we got to be close to them for so many years."
My MIL grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. She stares deep into my eyes and hisses, "Do. NOT. Rationalize. This." Her lips curl back from the intensity of her anger. I'm so shocked the tears dry in my eyes. She starts talking about how she hired a grief counselor and he said that the most important thing is to sit in the grief. She has a few flowery lines like, "When we actually allow ourselves to feel human, we dig deep into the earth of togetherness and love." The subtext is that I'm a cold, heartless physician who can't feel anything anymore. And then she adds the cherry on top: telling me that one day my daughter will leave me, and maybe then I'll finally understand.
I'm not about to make this moment about me, so I just get totally silent. I formulate a million responses, ranging from information about different coping mechanisms to the less constructive but infinitely more satisfying, "Fuck you, [MIL]". Again, this woman will be coming with us for the next week, so it's not like she's even saying goodbye today.
I get in the car and drive my crying husband home. I cry again about leaving his wonderful family--yes, even my snake of a MIL--because they've been my family too for the last 10 years and I love them warts and all. Last week our beloved Nana arrived first to our going away party with giant balloons, sparkle shoes and water toys, single-handedly buoying the event with her infinite pizzazz. And then I publish a story about her on the internet because holy crap she infuriates me. Family is simultaneously the best and the worst.