Forgive yourself. Those two words sound so simple. I have to tell myself this daily. There is not a day that goes by that the thought doesn’t cross my mind, I killed her myself. That I am responsible. It’s my fault my baby sisters don’t have a mother. It’s my fault my grandparents don’t have a daughter, my kids don’t have a Grammy, my Uncle his only sister. It’s my fault.
Every day I have to remind myself that it’s not. I feel like it is. I know that’s not true, but I feel responsible. My heart and my brain are rarely on the same page about this.
I had spent the past few years before her death in a grueling tug of war between right and wrong. Keeping myself away, I could be a better person. When I would come around, I would turn into someone I didn’t know. It was like an unseen force that just sucked me into a lifestyle I knew I didn’t want. But I also wanted to feel close to my mother. I would walk a fine line that I knew at any moment could have claimed my soul completely.
When I had my son that’s when I put a brick wall up. I did not want that around him at all. I had my mom thrown out of the hospital while I was in labor because she was not sober. Once I was home, I kept pushing her away. I didn’t want her to even hold him for more than a few minutes. What if she swallowed a handful of somas before walking in the door, causing her to drop him when it hit?
I wasn’t compassionate at all. I was downright hateful. I had a way with words, and I knew the things I said stung. I wanted a reaction out of her. She was always so messed up I had to hit her that much harder to make her understand. I wanted her to hurt the way I hurt and I couldn’t find the way to say it to her. I find that ironic now when I think of how well I’ve learned to express myself.
She swore she would quit taking pills so she could be a grandma. It upset her I didn’t want her involved much. Our last conversation will haunt me for the rest of my life. Mom had gone to the hospital early that morning because she wasn’t feeling right. The staff there knew her as a regular. I’m sure they assumed she was there for pills. They put her in a room for a few hours and never even checked on her. Out of frustration, my mom signed the papers releasing the hospital of any liability and she left against medical advice.
When she got home, she called me. Telling me she didn’t feel right. She felt so bad, but she didn’t explain what she was feeling. She didn’t have a chance to. I jumped down her throat for drinking the night before. She claimed to have Crohn’s and Lupus. (Always diagnosing herself with a condition to get something for pain) When she told me the hospital left her alone in the room for too long, I laughed at her and told her they knew she was messed up. That’s why they weren’t rushing to help her. She fussed back at me swearing she was sober. I didn’t believe it and made sure she knew I felt that way. She hung up on me. Not long after I got a call to get to the hospital. She had seized and was brain dead. That was it.
She was put on life support to keep her other organs healthy enough for donation. I spent days arguing with doctors she was a drug addict. Yet every test they ran showed she had nothing in her system. She was telling the truth. She really tried. I couldn’t accept that. I was so angry at God for taking her when she was trying to get it together.
This past decade has been one of self-discovery. I see now that my behavior was my way of protecting myself.
-If I was mad at her, I wouldn’t cry and stay awake at night worried about her.
-If I didn’t have her around, I wouldn’t have to take on the roll of caretaker while she drooled in public and slurred her speech. I wouldn’t be embarrassed by the stares and whispers of other people.
-If I wouldn’t let her be around my son, I wouldn’t have to answer the hard questions when he was older. I was trying to preserve myself and protect my son.
I am also finding through my research and digging she was hurting. She too had trauma. She suffered with depression. Maybe that’s why she started self medicating. Maybe that’s what started this whole train wreck. I’ll never know, because I was too overtaken by anger to listen to her. I urge you to see past the slurred speech and look at an addict as a person. I am not saying it’s your responsibility to “fix them”. You have no control over their sobriety and choices. But I am begging you not to arm yourself with anger. That self preservation method doesn’t work for you or them. It does nothing but break you down. Just like that old saying “It’s like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” It doesn’t work well.
That route only leads to guilt and regrets. I regret not telling her I loved her before she hung up the phone. I regret not taking her word when she said she was sober. I regret the harsh words I told her. I regret not having one picture of her holding my son. I regret not letting her experience the birth of her first grandchild. I can list regrets for miles.
Every day I am retraining my brain to release this burden. This is not mine to carry. These were her choices. I didn’t know how to help her anymore and I know now that neither did she. God knew this was her only way out. She had beaten and battered her body to the point of no return. He waited until her heart was pure and she was sober to take her. Her life still has a purpose.
It’s my job to share and bring awareness. I had to learn to let go of the anger before I could see that. It’s no longer my job to take care of her, it’s my job to honor her. I will share our story hoping it will help just one person. There are thousands upon thousands of families just like ours out there and I hope this shows them they are not alone. I hope that our story will help you to identify with someone. I hope it helps you to soften your heart. I hope it helps you to protect yourself emotionally while still searching for understanding. I hope that if their presence in your life is toxic, that you find a way to detach with love and not anger.
If any of this sounds like you, please forgive yourself. We are only human. Shatter the silence of addiction and its ripples. Do not let someone else’s vice consume you another day.