According to “The Facebook” today is National Daughter’s Day. Of course, I jumped on the bandwagon, posted pictures of my brown-eyed girl and boasted of her accomplishments. I am one lucky momma!
Today, however, I am drowning in a sea of despair. I am a daughter. One of two actually. The eldest of the duo.
I have busied myself all day. Mowing, cleaning, creating diversions. Balls to the wall, since my feet hit the floor this morning. I noticed that I have been anxious today and then the it dawned on me. The mainspring of my anxiety is the reality that I am someone’s daughter. Thank you Facebook and thank you cooler weather.
Estranged is the proper term I guess. I don’t feel that word does our relationship justice.
Possessed by a guarded heart I face the holidays, fearful of what fiasco lay in waiting. The holidays are tough for folks. Kids of divorce. People who are grieving. Family members who watch, helplessly as loved ones struggle with addiction. Daughters who are estranged from their mothers.
On my own volition after a series of events, I divorced myself from my mother.
Today, I am drowning in a sea of loneliness . I am a daughter.
Mental illness is real. Heartbreaking. Dream killing. Destructive. My sister and I have watched our mother disappear. Her last attempt to end her life was the last time I saw her. You may judge me for this decision and that is ok. You are not my target audience.
I am talking to those of you who have watched an addict travel the same road over and over, anyone who has been abused mentally or physically and those of us who have experienced mental illness as an outsider looking in. Other situations apply here as well.
What you need to know is that it is ok to let go. To walk away. Some will disagree. I’ve been ridiculed for taking this step but those folks simply have no clue. Guess what, I don’t need their validation.
Two weeks before my son was born I stood bedside watching, wondering if she would pull through after her first attempt to take her life.
Over the next 20 years, more calls alerting us to yet another attempt. My sister and I left to wonder why we weren’t enough.
I guess the question is, when is enough, enough? People have different levels of tolerance. Walking away isn’t easy. Nor is it cowardice. It takes guts.
Two years ago, when the weather started getting cooler, I knew it was time. Standing bedside, same scenario. Only differences: I was older, grayer and numb. I said my goodbyes. We didn’t know at the time if she would make it. Either way, my mother was gone.
Today I am drowning in a sea of heartache. I am someone’s daughter.
One can’t force an alcoholic to stop drinking. Medication can’t be forced upon anyone who isn’t willing to swallow. At some point I realized I wasn’t her problem nor her solution.
The older I get the more I have come to believe that forgiveness is an illusion and that forgetting is damn near impossible. Coping, my friends, is the sweet spot.
How coping looks on you is your business. You don’t need anyone’s approval regarding your coping mechanism of choice. Should you continue down the same path? Do you give it one more go? Do you quit cold turkey? Do you run like hell never to look back? Only you know what you can live with. Walking away isn’t for that faint of heart.
I am lonely. I needed her. I am , however at peace . Keep on keepin’ on y’all!