Groceries
She emailed her grocery list to me. Walking the aisles picking out the items, I felt as if I was going to have a nervous breakdown. Or, at the very least, could I just PLEASE cry? Please, just let me cry when other people aren’t around.
Following her list very carefully, I have a hard time finding the right pork, chicken, and beef. The 79 cent frozen dinners were easy to spot. This food kills people, the 79 cent food. The pop tarts bought for emergency diabetic attacks of low blood sugar. I notice they are stashed in many different places throughout her home.
I guess it’s too late for her, she’s been eating toxic food her entire life. Her body is a vestibule of toxic waste. She doesn’t know any better. She only cares that she saves money by buying everything on sale. She is worth so much more than that.
She doesn’t know any better, it’s where she came from, and it’s her family of origin. Self worth was not an asset; you wore your self hatred and suffering like a badge of honor.
Arriving at her house with the groceries, I walk in and I look down at her swollen red feet. I’ve pleaded with her to at least elevate her feet as she sits in the chair.
Why won’t you take care of yourself anymore? “I’m old” she replies, “I just can’t do it anymore.” I tell her that is bullshit. I know a ton of people her age that did not give up and are not suffering as she is.
She lets out that sigh, long and slow and rolls her eyes and looks away from me. As if, I have no idea. Deep down, she knows I do. She knows that I know.
For the millionth time, I explain that this isn’t old age, its MENTAL ILLNESS. She won’t accept that answer, as if her current quality of life is much more honorable than to be labeled with mental illness.
She gave up a very long time ago. I have no idea what made her think that giving up was even an option. I mean, she had one more daughter that had not had kids yet. She owes me a grandmother for MY kids.
I realize, that’s selfish but it’s honest. Just because it isn’t as I think it should be, doesn’t mean it isn’t as it’s supposed to be. Good thing I am not in charge of everything.
It’s hard to watch the illness growing like a cancer. Eventually it covers your entire being like vines until the real you is barely traceable.
I love you Mom, and I’ll never forget who you are.
October 10th, 2007 at 1:34 pm
My husband’s mother was similar. She was severely depressed, but wouldn’t see a psych. She was diabetic and lived on starch and sugar laden foods. She had high blood pressure, and she didn’t take her meds. A recluse who rarely left the house, never had a job, a hobby, a friend. She died of a stroke, and never met her grandson. No one but family came to her funeral.
October 10th, 2007 at 1:58 pm
This is heartbreaking! Thank you for sharing your heart. This is so beautifully written.
October 10th, 2007 at 2:17 pm
Oh, my heart. Oh, your heart. This was my Mom until July, when she went manic for the first time at 65, and was finally hospitalized and medicated, and miraculously the self I remember from 20 + years ago.
I don’t think you’re selfish at all. You want her to live, you want her to be better. It’s almost impossible not to be angry– the only thing you can do sometimes is stifle it, and do the things she’ll let you do for her. Mental illness and all, she’s still an adult who will make her own choices. And as much as that hurts you, knowing there is a better way, it’s not a rejection of you, its a rejection of her by her.
October 11th, 2007 at 10:16 pm
I’m sorry- so heartbreaking. I hope that she knows how much you love her.
October 12th, 2007 at 10:57 am
Followed you here from bipolarlawyer, and feel like I have just intruded on something so painful and so personal. Wow, my heart goes out to you both. Your mother is lucky, not everyone is so fortunate to have a family member who cares as you do. I wish you all the best.
October 13th, 2007 at 11:53 am
Moonflower, I’m sorry not to address the topic of your entry – but I saw on the About page that you wanted to try EMDR. I just want you to know I tried it and it surprised me with how effective it was. I lived in another state then, and I don’t think anyone does it where I live. But I still employ the techniques when I think about them…. like squeezing with my left and right hands intermittently.
Again sorry to go off topic. Just wanted to say that to Moonflower.
October 14th, 2007 at 7:23 pm
Moonflower, i am overwhelmed reading your story. I remember so well all those things that dont make sense. 29 yrs ago my manic depressive mother died from suicide. I was 16. I suspect you have dealt with this many, many years. I see me in you. It helps me to read your story. To imagine, for what its worth, what things would have been like. Dont know what would be worse. I have never come across anyone who will speak freely about their mother’s mental illness. I go around assuming everyone has a sane healthy mother. I will tell you that my mother left us long notes. She wrote that her greatest joy was her beautiful children. We were all teenagers then. Her saddest regret was that she would not be able to see her grandchildren. So I have to believe she just really couldnt help it. I cant make myself be angry at her. I guess she owed my children a grandmother too. I tell them nice stories so they have pride about what a wonderful lady she was. And she really was. I know she loved us dearly, but was so wrapped up in her pain. Sometimes she was catatonic. She made us go on with our lives. I didnt know how to model Motherhood…so i just went with my instincts and have two, thank God, well-adjusted daughters almost adults now. Hang on to the good days. I think I truly understand you. There is nothing simple about any of this, but it helps to share, and I thank you for helping me look closer..