About a year or two before she died, my mother in law kept saying "He's just annoying. He's not really a bad man."
She said this over and over in spite of the fact that she had lived more than 50 years with a man who was annoying at the very least, and selfishly, inhumanly cruel at the worst. Her desire to be a charitable Christian, patient and long suffering, giving up her boundaries and selfhood to placate him, allowed him to become entrenched in his behaviors so completely that great changes took place when the inevitable drying up of his influence began a year after she died.
I say a year because technically, he was her estate Trustee, mistakenly so due to attorney error, although he did no other work than signing his name. The actual work of settling the estate (as MIL had meant it to be) fell to my husband, and to me. FIL got plenty of Narcissistic Supply by having us take him to the bank, and the attorney's office, and having him sign endless documents, tax statements and estate checks. When the year ended, the solicitous attention did too; it was then that he began to rage and shout and lash out, in a futile attempt to get the rest of us back into line with the status quo ante.
My MIL believed him to be ADD, which is possible. I have known and taught ADD and ADHD students and found them to be capable of humility. My niece, who took care of her grandmother in her last six weeks of life, labels him as obsessive, which is obvious. MIL thought his predictable blowups could be traced to a building of need for the adrenalin that comes from runaway anger, so it could serve as amphetamine-like Ritalin, paradoxically used to calm the hyperactive. It's always the backwards reaction with him. Perhaps that's what was happening, I can't say.
But it's amazing how many fewer blowups he's had since she's been gone and his grandiose ego is so rarely rewarded, once he learned the raging and shouting and lashing out resulted in his audience turning their backs on him and walking away. And not coming back. Leaving him all alone with himself for company.
The injury is complete and no one pays attention anymore. His wife is no longer around to compensate for him and make him look good. His daughters make sure he has food to eat and his clothes are clean, but conversation with such a man always has been futile. His expensive and useless inventions sit rusting and crumbling. He locked away his money in an annuity and can't fiddle with it anymore. His biggest claim to fame, teaching a Sunday class once a month, lasted only half a year, since the powers-in-charge realized belatedly that he wasn't much like his son--my husband--who is a superior counselor/teacher. FIL was eased out of the Sunday teaching position that he abandoned family Christmas togetherness and risked his life for, flying and driving at age 83 in blizzard conditions, to make it to church in time for a disorganized and stuttering performance. Other callings, tailored especially for the bare simplicity his capacity demands, were no longer lasting. The large and needy family that so appreciated his garden tomatoes and beans and corn suddenly moved away.
In self-pity, he pines for his dearly departed wife. He misses the way of life she provided for him, the papering over of family pathologies, the closed mouth about the giant borderline elephants in the room, the passing along of blame to those of us who were sane and uncomplaining. The Narcissistic Supply so evenly handed out, the filling her role of devoted wife by fudging the truth here and quietly edging the burden onto her son, my husband, there. When FIL is happy, everyone can have a little peace and quiet.
He was and is annoying, but more to the truth of it, he is and continues to be pathological. Only now he has to behave better, because nobody rewards the adult temper tantrums anymore.
She said this over and over in spite of the fact that she had lived more than 50 years with a man who was annoying at the very least, and selfishly, inhumanly cruel at the worst. Her desire to be a charitable Christian, patient and long suffering, giving up her boundaries and selfhood to placate him, allowed him to become entrenched in his behaviors so completely that great changes took place when the inevitable drying up of his influence began a year after she died.
I say a year because technically, he was her estate Trustee, mistakenly so due to attorney error, although he did no other work than signing his name. The actual work of settling the estate (as MIL had meant it to be) fell to my husband, and to me. FIL got plenty of Narcissistic Supply by having us take him to the bank, and the attorney's office, and having him sign endless documents, tax statements and estate checks. When the year ended, the solicitous attention did too; it was then that he began to rage and shout and lash out, in a futile attempt to get the rest of us back into line with the status quo ante.
My MIL believed him to be ADD, which is possible. I have known and taught ADD and ADHD students and found them to be capable of humility. My niece, who took care of her grandmother in her last six weeks of life, labels him as obsessive, which is obvious. MIL thought his predictable blowups could be traced to a building of need for the adrenalin that comes from runaway anger, so it could serve as amphetamine-like Ritalin, paradoxically used to calm the hyperactive. It's always the backwards reaction with him. Perhaps that's what was happening, I can't say.
But it's amazing how many fewer blowups he's had since she's been gone and his grandiose ego is so rarely rewarded, once he learned the raging and shouting and lashing out resulted in his audience turning their backs on him and walking away. And not coming back. Leaving him all alone with himself for company.
The injury is complete and no one pays attention anymore. His wife is no longer around to compensate for him and make him look good. His daughters make sure he has food to eat and his clothes are clean, but conversation with such a man always has been futile. His expensive and useless inventions sit rusting and crumbling. He locked away his money in an annuity and can't fiddle with it anymore. His biggest claim to fame, teaching a Sunday class once a month, lasted only half a year, since the powers-in-charge realized belatedly that he wasn't much like his son--my husband--who is a superior counselor/teacher. FIL was eased out of the Sunday teaching position that he abandoned family Christmas togetherness and risked his life for, flying and driving at age 83 in blizzard conditions, to make it to church in time for a disorganized and stuttering performance. Other callings, tailored especially for the bare simplicity his capacity demands, were no longer lasting. The large and needy family that so appreciated his garden tomatoes and beans and corn suddenly moved away.
In self-pity, he pines for his dearly departed wife. He misses the way of life she provided for him, the papering over of family pathologies, the closed mouth about the giant borderline elephants in the room, the passing along of blame to those of us who were sane and uncomplaining. The Narcissistic Supply so evenly handed out, the filling her role of devoted wife by fudging the truth here and quietly edging the burden onto her son, my husband, there. When FIL is happy, everyone can have a little peace and quiet.
He was and is annoying, but more to the truth of it, he is and continues to be pathological. Only now he has to behave better, because nobody rewards the adult temper tantrums anymore.
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