The days are tumbling on top of each other following the death of my mother who had HD. I never was able to visit her as much as she wanted me to. Even when I visited her every day she would barely let me out the door. Even when she was yelling at me, she didn’t want me to go. She wanted the connection. I moved away, my own HD progressed and I became less capable of making the 90 minute drive.
Then she started calling me, literally hundreds of times a day. She would sit for hours and hit the redial button and when I would answer, she would ask me when I was coming to visit. When my support system got wind of this, they insisted that I block her calls so I could try to get something done during the day and not have my heart broken every time I heard the despair in her voice and felt the specter of what could befall me. I told her I was having trouble with my phone. She sent me a few letters begging me to help her, but I confirmed that she was safe and being well taken care of. The letters stopped and I visited as often as I could.
At a certain point, long before her final days, she had decided that she wanted to consume me. I don’t know if it was the same dynamic as the time I was drowning and as people kept trying to save me, I climbed up their bodies, plunging them further down into the water. But for years I have felt her sickness manifested in a need for something from me that I could neither identify or satisfy.
Until she died, I carried an enormous weight of guilt because I thought that I wasn’t there enough for her. That I couldn’t see her or help her. That I had failed the one who had failed me the most, and by doing so, I had blown both of our chances for redemption.
Now even though she is gone, I still have a sense of her being. The memory of her unforgettable presence lingers and, more and more, I remember snapshots in my life from the times long ago when she showed me love.
But the oppressive guilt has lifted. I am realizing that I did the best I could based on my own condition, and that is more satisfying knowing that she is released from her diseased body and mind and no longer desperate.
Now it is my turn to live out my days and, while I have plans, I have adjustments to make to improve my health. I am formulating safeguards to protect my kids from what I went through. I am already having conversations with them about blocking me if I perseverate on the phone calls. And I am conveying my unconditional love to them the best that I can.
But I mete it out in small doses, because they are teenagers and I do not want to freak them out.