Well, the weather has been somewhat unremarkable. But that is not the reason I am a bit tardy on my latest entry. When it gets really dark, cold and rainy, I will have a tendancy toward curling up in a little ball and just…hibernating. I really don’t feel productive, communicative or any other verb. So, my apologies.

A few days ago marked the fourth anniversary of my mother’s passing. She was relatively young, at sixty-eight; she should have had a fair-ish stretch ahead of her. But, due to her lifestyle choices, her body was just done. The last six months before she died, she was offered a surgery that would have certainly extended her life, but would have required a commitment from her to give up smoking cigarettes. She refused. I was not surprised. This was a defining feature of my mother’s life and approach to it. No one will tell me how to live or conduct my affairs, thank  you very much. If you have followed my blog or know some of my story, you may know that my mother inappropriately used drugs and alcohol most of her adult life, and if I am honest, I am surprised she lasted as long as she did.

What has always confused me, though, is that she was always so intuitive and intelligent about some things. She had a keen mind for business ideas and could smoke anyone under the table at jeopardy on the television. How is it then, that she was such a victim to her insecurities and rampant, out of control emotions that had to be soothed with substances?

Perhaps she thought she could play doctor on her own, instead of seeing a professional, obtaining a diagnosis and getting treatment. Without a diagnosis, she could tell herself the lie we all like to tell ourselves.

“It’s not that bad, there’s nothing wrong with me…I can handle it…only weak people go to doctors for mental issues…”.

That must have been a really scary, lonely place for her. But as an eight year old child, I only saw an adult who was supposed to take care of me, reaching out to me, needing me to take care of her emotionally.

That is why recovery and getting the right help we need is so very important. If we won’t do it for ourselves, then maybe for those that we love in our lives.

Rest in peace mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t forgive you until now, but I get it. I love you.


(the fuzzy picture with today’s entry is mom, trying to hold my arm…)