The dutiful son

I am a bad son because I view the mother-son relationship as a chore, a duty, a burden plus there is a lot of resentment bubbling under the surface from so many past events. I do love my mother, but it's just not that simple. People view my relationship with my mother as perfect. I talk to her at least every other day and visit in person once a week. Last week, I was with her as a precursor to Mother's Day as I had to travel on the actual Sunday. As usual, she had a list of chores - trim the hedges, trim the trees; fix the fence (a portion fell); replace the living room outlet (bigger problem, called electrician) and take Mom to the store. The trip to the store goes as usual, meandering the giant box store with her grabbing random items (no list) and my paying. I grab her a meal on the way home - her favorite burrito. The rumble in my stomach is audible, but no way am I eating there. We return to her house, store the groceries, she eats and I am gone - the weekly visit checked off the list. I exhale while rubbing my temples, leaning back against the car as gas pours into the gas tank. I survey the old neighborhood, odd how little it has changed since my youth. I speed down the road and race up the ramp before hitting the highway to head home. I plop down on the couch with leftovers from the fridge and fumble with the remote to find the game. The tension in my shoulders eases as I lean back, pushing my shoes off while savoring the spaghetti. I am so glad the visit is over and the rest of the week is mine.