Teaching the Blind to See

I just got off the phone with my mom. She was weepy and depressed. (Much better than manipulative and vibey.)

I was just there last week for a visit and she had just purchased her first computer. My dad has one upstairs in his office and uses it soley for work. Most of my parent's friends are on-line at this point and my mom has been anxious to join the ranks. It will live on the kitchen table where she daydreams of checking her email with her morning coffee, Good Morning America on in the background.

My mother has never used a computer. Like, ever. And it's a laptop, a new laptop, the really touch senstive kind where if you look at it with enough concentration, it will draw up your webpage or scroll on verbal command. My dad can pretty much navigate his way from email and back but my brother had to spend about five days of nose-to-the-grinding-stone lessons when the insurance company dad works for started requiring their employees to submit insurance claims via email. So, my father isn't the guy to give mom lessons on how to maneuver her way around in the world wide web. And my brother is a redhead like my mom. It would surely be a trainwreck.

I've acquired my dad's low blood pressure and good nature. Plus, I do a really good job (most of the time) at keeping my mom's nervous break downs at bay, so I was the one elected to give her the step by step directions.

I set her up with a Hotmail account so that if she has questions she can call me and I can help her find her way around. I also helped her set up the Oprah home page in her Favorites list (which she doesn't know how to get to anyway).

She's called me a few times so far but it's been pretty hard getting her to where she needs to be. After the first three minutes are up she starts to huff and her voice quivers and if my dad is in the room, she finds something to yell at him about. I think it's her comfort zone. And it's such a shame. He's a really nice guy.

So, I helped her into her inbox this morning, where she found something I had forwarded to her. I gave her the job of replying to my forward. I even sat on the phone with her and directed her to the Reply button, the Subject button and showed her where she should hit Send.

This last call from her was weepy because she had written me a nice long lettter, which probably took the better part of an hour (her typing skills are rusty and her nails are kind of long), and then when my uncle came in to check it out, he somehow lost the whole thing. I think both he and my dad had been exiled from the kitchen when she called.

So she closed the computer for the day. Needs to come back to it tomorrow. I keep telling her that eventually it will be second nature and that she needs to be patient with herself but I think she hears the grown up voice from the Charlie Brown cartoons when I talk like that. It just doesn't register. It's a strange dialect.

I don't know if she'll stick with it. And I wonder how long I'll last as her instructor. When I consider what a nightmare I was when it came to homeschooling, I get the heeby jeebies to think about what I've signed on for here. We'll see if she eventually barks at me or if she'll remember to breathe and forgive herself the mistakes she's bound to make.

It's hard to try to understand your mom's psychology. I spent the better part of my seven hour drive home from my visit with her wondering about a tactful way to suggest she try some therapy. It's a good thing that Ella has a portable DVD player with headphones because I had about twelve different conversations up there in the front seat, all by myself, trying out different approaches. I know that her anxiety isn't with the computer. It's about failing. Not being good enough. And that anxiety spills over to her every interaction, perception, and consideration. At 60 years old, her body carries the stress of chronic panic like a border collie with it's signals crossed. A really fine breed that thinks it's job is to chase it's own tail. And it breaks my heart.

I want to suggest therapy because I forsee a phone call in my near future.... one or another relative calling to tell me about my mom's heartattack. Part of me wonders if this is her journey. Is it my responsibility to do what I can to avoid that? Or do you teach old dogs new tricks? Teach the blind to see?

Right now, I'm just focusing on a home page, a browser list and an inbox. Let's hope we can get through that.