I had to speak with him--the narcissist, yesterday. Pressing matters dictate. Reason being I'm oh-so-abruptly uprooting myself and my no-longer-littles back East. Reason being my mother was diagnosed with the big C. Way too abruptly, she has Gastric cancer with Mets to the bones. Sometimes, I hate being a physican. Unfortunately, I know what this means. The oncologist world peeps need not do their evasive, vague communicative practices. We might have weeks. I'm hoping for a few months. My mother, the woman who has been my unfailing supporter through everything in life is leaving soon to pass behind the thin veil that separates some of us from the others of us.
I am in a shock of sorts.
Of course, logistically, I had to communicate with the Narc. I wish that were not the case. My little Irish princess warrior recommended that I not speak with him at all. But that was not an option.
And all he could seemingly focus on, was how he will lose the kid's bikes to the East Coast. Swallowed whole into some moving truck that will move us all across country. The BIKES. He could only think about the inanimate objects of the BIKES. Because people do not actually matter. He might lose the BIKES since my kids brought them skyward and now we are going East with nowhere to store them here. The BIKES. And this is a picture--a metaphor of what is the problem with the narcissist. People dying are of no consequence to a narcissist. But, material goods. BIKES. Inanimate objects. These are the things that he clings to. These are the things that matter to the narcissist. Not people.
