A Promise

I promised my mom that our aunt, her widowed sister who had no children, would always be welcome in our home.  

I will keep that promise no matter how difficult this aunt is; no matter how strained the current relationship is.  But nowhere does it say that I have to be friendly to her.  I no longer respect her as a person.  Maybe there is some respect for her status in life as the older sister of my mom but for her as herself?  None whatsoever.  Respect is earned.

I will be civil to her.  But that will be the extent of the hospitality that I promised my mom.

I’m sorry ma.  You couldn’t change her for the better when you were around; who are we to attempt to do so now.  She wouldn’t listen to you when you were still alive, now she’s even worse.  She is a bitter, closed minded old woman who spouts lies at every turn.

You wouldn’t think it to look at her.  To outsiders she is all charm and humility and graciousness to the point of giving all to the guests.  Whereas at home she is spiteful, hateful and opinionated.  She can be the gracious hostess but she is the guest from hell who insults her hosts and expects her hosts to agree to everything she says by virtue of her age.

I’m sorry.  My promise stops at the welcome part.

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