More cracks than I thought

I posted a few days ago about my Mom’s boyfriend and how, as his familiarity increases with our home he has begun to show a “further side” of his personality. Some folksy racist comments, inserting himself into situations that don’t concern him and trying to influence decisions my mother makes. It is bugging me a bit, but as I stated before it is her life and if she’s happy then so am I. I’m also a guest in her house right now and I know my place and will not exceed my boundaries, provided they jive with my sensibilities. That is a big ol’ gelatinous statement because my “sensibilities” constantly evolve.

A little history will provide some more context.

My father died of Parkinson’s in 2013. He battled the insidious disease for 8 years. As the disease systematically reduced the once unbreakable, honest and strong man to a mere shell of existence my mother was forced to care for him almost unassisted despite the fact that he was a veteran and a Teamster. Caring for him took a terrible toll on her, the stress of seeing her only love fade before her eyes and the physical toll of tending to his every need was miserable for her. His death was a relief for everyone, I imagine even for my father. I was living in MA and was 100 miles away so I was of little help but when he passed I spent as much time up here as I could to keep her company.

Six months passed and Mom called and said: “we need to talk”. She had a boyfriend. A local guy, a retired MA transplant who worked part-time in the schools named Frank. I had mixed emotions. Part of me screamed “too soooooon!” but the other, more reasonable side of me liked the fact that she wasn’t alone. I would meet Frank soon after and I liked him. My family not so much. My wife, the pinnacle of virtue apparently, got all judgy about how fast it all happened. My children were unhappy because they hadn’t seen their grandmother at all as she cared for my dad and now she was busy with someone else and they were again on the back burner. I found myself playing the middle, a role I hate.

Frank was a clinger, a Velcro boyfriend. He had come from a miserable marriage, he was crazy about my mother and he never left her side. I pulled mom aside and told her my concerns, she was aware but not worried about it. It became a problem for me when I brought the family up one night and come bedtime, instead of getting in his truck he began to put his pajamas on and headed towards the bedroom. The same bed my mother shared with my father. I wasn’t cool with that at all. My kids were here, they wanted time with her and he couldn’t give her one night without humping her leg? And she couldn’t ask him to leave?  I did it for her.

“Hey Frank, if it’s all the same to you…you know I like you right? If it’s all the same to you when we’re at breakfast tomorrow I’d rather not see you come out of this room scratching your balls. Would you mind going home tonight?” Mom was not happy but she knew I just had a conversation she couldn’t. Frank was pissed. But he skulked out and I told Mom that she needed to reign in his clinginess. How did they think that it was ok for the grandkids, who just lost their grandfather, to see that?

Eventually, Frank and I came to an understanding and we ended up liking each other a lot, although Mom said he was intimidated by me. I’m glad I liked him because he proposed in July of 16. They were now living together and their old-fashioned values left them feeling uncomfortable with “living in sin.” They were married in January of this year.

He died 3 months later. What started out as a cold turned out to be lung cancer. He lasted 10 days from diagnosis to the morgue. My mother was crushed. But bounced right back.

She gave it 6 months, and around the time that I moved in she began to get the itch. She wanted to date again. After several failed online experiences, she met Dave. Dave is the guy I recently posted about. He is almost but not quite as clingy as Frank.

The other day I asked my mother how things were going with him. I had my opinions but I only offered them when asked for. We talked for a bit about the aforementioned stuff. I recommended that she be the one to be in charge of the relationship. She needed to remind him that she just lost a 2nd husband and that the situation needs to be how she wants it. I assured her that he would be fine with whatever she does. I then mentioned to her some of the things I discussed in my previous post. Most of which she agreed with. Then she said, “there is one more thing, he needs to stop grabbing me. You know…sexually”. The top of my head almost blew off! I was furious. I needed to know: how bad, how often, what did you do about it and what happens now?!?!

“Like what”, she said, “I told him I didn’t like it. That in my entire life I’ve never been groped”.

“Umm Hmmm…and what, pray tell was his response to that?”

“He said that I should be flattered.” He sounds like Fred fucking Flintstone.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you”.

“You’d better do something or I will,” I told her.

I’m glad she told me. I am now planning my move. Something will be said. This is my Mother! What is he, a teenager? Is she hot? I’m not backing off of this.

I’m fine with her dating. It’s not even up to me. I wish she played the field a bit instead of falling in with these “nesters” but it’s not my call. I tolerate the fact that he may be plowing my mother in my father’s bed but he had better respect her and she had better insist on it. Retired state trooper or not, I’ll put him out the door without the benefit of opening it first.

A 70-year old man groping a woman like a teenager. You can’t make this shit up.

 

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