Mom

Today is my mother's 76th birthday. I can hardly explain how happy I am for it. First of all I never thought I'd live to see it. No, seriously I thought I'd be dead by now. When I was young I never saw myself make it past 45. All my hopes and dreams stopped at that age. I always thought that I'd be dead by my own hand, or some terrible accident would fall upon me. But, I am still here and so is she. I had my doubts about her making it too.

You see, my mom has schizoid affect disorder, which is very much like bipolar disorder. A person with schizoaffective disorder has severe changes in mood and some of the psychotic symptoms of schizophrenia, such as hallucinations, delusions, and disorganized thinking. Psychotic symptoms in schizoaffective disorder occur even when mood symptoms are no longer present, and reflect the person's inability to tell what is real from what is imagined. Symptoms of schizoaffective disorder may vary greatly from one person to the next and may be mild or severe. (info courtesy of WebMD). I remember when she went through periods of crushing depression. I was only 5 but I knew my mom was "sick" The grown-ups always talked in hushed voices, and told me that "mommy had to go lay down". I never knew what it was until I was 16. I used to check on her while she was sleeping to make sure she was still breathing. So, with what little information I had to go on, I figured that it was somehow my fault. I spent most of my childhood waiting for her to die. 

Therefore, it became my job to keep her happy. I figured if I was the best little girl in the world that she would love me enough not to die. But it didn't work. I did the only thing I could do. I blamed myself. Somehow, I had failed her.

My mom is the second of seven children; four boys and three girls.They were poor, but they made out okay. I don't know much about my mother's early life, except what I heard in stories around the dinner table at holiday dinners. I know she was very attached to her older brother. He died when I was 18, my mother was beyond devastation. I didn't know what to say to her or how to console her. My father tried to help, but she was beyond reach. 

I know my mom tried to kill herself several times. She took mysterious "trips". It was only when I was older that I found out she was in the hospital. The last time she tried to kill herself that I remember, is when I was 16. She was supposed to be going to the grocery store, and had asked me if I wanted to go with her. But I said no. Four hours later, I get a call from some man in another county saying he had found my mother by the side of the road. She had driven to another county to take an overdose. I called my older sister, who had moved out by then, and we went and picked up my mother. My father was home from work by then, and he knew what was wrong. So we all piled in the car and took her to the hospital. 

Again, in hushed whispered voices the adults were talking about what she had done. That is where I heard my father use the word schizo. I did't really know what it meant but I sure as hell looked it up when we got home. From then on, I knew that she wasn't "sick" but crazy. I hated her for that. I hated her for the guilt and shame she brought to our family. It didn't last long. I felt too guilty for my hate to last that long. If only I had gone with her that day, if only I had been a better daughter, if only I was pretty, if only..

Oh, there we other things going on in my childhood when this was all transpiring, but I didn't dare tell anyone. I would just take my dolls in the backyard and disappear until it was time for lunch. I was very good at disappearing. I learned to be very quite, not disturbing even the dust as I walked by. I could become part of furniture or hide behind boxes in the closet. No one ever looked for me. I liked that part. All they would find if they found me was a little girl with round eyes and a shy smile. The adults would say "what ar e you doing?" I would whisper "nothing". 

I still have that whisper. I never really did learn to speak up for myself. I loathe public speaking. You might as well ask me to jump into a pit of snakes, before I would voluntarily speak to people. I still have times where I disappear. I am so good at it , you see. 

I love my mother with all my heart and soul. She is my champion, my best friend. I can tell her anything, and she can read my moods just by the look in my eye. I don't know what I would do without her.

I am no longer waiting for her to die. I made my peace with her mortality long ago. I just want to be there when she goes. I want to tell her I love her and hold her hand as she goes off to be with the Lord. I guess that's all anyone can hope for really. But I do want her around as long as possible. Maybe I'll let her go when she is 100 years old. I might be ready by then.

Today is my mother's 76th birthday. Happy Birthday Mommy. I love you.