Jesus, mom. in Journal

So mom emailed me and told me about a dream.
“Back in April I dreamt that you were pregnant. You were very pregnant in my dream. It was a windy day and you came over and we talked. The dream was very vivid and real. The day was cloudy with approaching rain. I’m not sure of the significance. This dream creeps up all the time in my mind and heart.”
I really think that nothing can get through to her.... She may know what the dream means, but wants to guilt trip me into a power grab. In the past,she would try to convince me and other to do something without being honest- totally manipulative- and then claim that she dreamt such and such would happen so she had to do it.
Still I find it interesting that in her dream she focuses on the result; that I hold possibility, power, creative force, responsibility, consequence- illustrated by my pregnancy and the windy storm that accompanies me. But there is no acknowledgement of the cause. She sees herself as merely passive: a receptor for my life giving power and helpless to do anything in the face of my magnificence. It’s a very alluring story narrative. An invitation to control her with my presence or denial of presence. Oh, she is good. Very good. Scary good.
Terrifyingly good.
Conveniently left out is the entire story of how this scene came to be. Why am I coming over while very pregnant with a little one at home and a family to care for while she awaits to be graced and served by my presence? Of course mom wants to believe that she is helpless. The consequences of being helpless is exactly this dream’s warning.
I’m not entirely certain there’s anything more to be said. Mom is reaping her reward of her choices, and still instead of acknowledging her choices and their consequences, offers for me to control and manage her in her feeling life. This of course a total farce. I cannot control her. No more than I can control the choices that she made that resulted in this power exchange. Her plea is to please take it away. Please come in and save me from the consequences of my actions. I say no. I cannot save you. Not only can’t I save you, but it would destroy me to try.
I am certain that grandma has the same victim complex. That’s why my gma is in mom’s life, was in my life. And it’s why mom cannot respect me, respect gma, or herself. Or anyone. It’s why she chose dad.
She’s so close… I find myself now rooting for her. If she can keep going, she might stumble upon the truth of her entire life. Is it too late for her? Is the pain of separation great enough? Will it motivate her to complete the process she should have completed as a young adult?
I don’t know. It is a very exciting prospect. One that I am more thrilled about than scared, for the first time ever. I know, now, exactly who and what she is. It is so liberating. The ambivalence is gone! The uncertainty is gone. I am free. I am more confident and happier than ever.