Mommy Issues - 06/14/18
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Something I’ve been thinking about lately is whether I feel like I deserve to lose weight. This was a huge struggle between my mom and I before she died – her health problems. She died of organ failure, caused by her diabetes and Crohn’s disease, years of painkillers destroyed her body. I was told two years before she died that she had two years left – I didn’t believe it. She seemed sick, but still okay. She couldn’t do a lot of the things we used to do together but we were still able to go to a reggae fest in Topeka. That was always our thing, reggae fests, we’d go with her and my aunt Bonnie, and my baby sister Tori when she was still alive. She got worse and worse, to the point where I knew but refused to believe that she was going to be gone. I cried and cried about it and wouldn’t let her talk about it and process it without bawling. She kept telling me how good I was and how she could count on me, but the honest truth is I avoided going to see her because I hated to see her sick, and because of her hepatic encephalopathy (HE) she was often mean. I made excuses to not go see her, or I was on my phone the whole time. She shared a video that told me what to expect but it was still hard to remember that she was sick and that the person who was being cruel and hateful wasn’t my mom, it was her disease. This is something I’ve even learned in A.A. and still forgot – “love the addict, hate the disease”. My mom and I fought a lot. I would refuse to go see her. She would get manipulative because she wanted food – junk food – and sometimes I’d cave because I didn’t want to argue and quite frankly I was in the mood for whatever she was trying to give me cash to go buy – but a lot of the time I refused to get it for her – and she’d then get angry with me and snap at me and say hateful things about everything she’d done for me, adopting me, etc. Now I understand her struggle with food – I’m addicted, too – at the time I just wanted her to stop eating that garbage because I thought if she’d just stop eating Popeye’s and Little Debbies, then maybe, just maybe, she’d live longer, and even get better. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that she was DYING and it wasn’t going to make a difference if she ate a bag of licorice – and that would have made her happy and not added stress to what was left of her life. I didn’t stop to enjoy the time I had left. I was selfish. I kept asking the doctors how long she had left because she was always on her deathbed, then she was okay, then she was dying again, and I was tired of the emotional rollercoaster, I just wanted to know when it was going to be over and try to somehow "prepare" myself for that day. I barely involved my mom in my wedding but I was so angry at her that she could wait 2 years to get sick enough to die but she couldn’t wait 3 more months so she could be at my wedding. We got in a lot of arguments and I really hurt her that I didn’t include her. I didn’t want her opinions on dresses and decorations, etc. because they didn’t match what I wanted. I just wanted her to be there to walk me down the aisle. I ended up walking myself down, because my dad’s been out of the picture for about 15 years now (that’s another long story!). Before she died, I started trying to find my dad, I guess I just wanted SOMEONE to be there, I didn’t want to be an orphan. My birth mother is alive, but I only spent a year with her and that was a year too many. I am sure that hurt her, that she wasn’t even dead yet, and I was trying to replace her as a parent. Last night I was thinking about I had nobody left, I mean, I have an aunt and a sister (also adopted) but I don’t have any birth family, and I don’t have a mom or a dad, and I rarely talk to my biological brother because we didn’t see each other for almost 20 years and what’s there to talk about now, and I just feel really, really alone. The only reason I have a family now (other than my aunt/sister), is because I’m married, and that’s HIS family, who yes, have completely adopted me as one of their own, but if I didn’t have him, I wouldn’t have them, and if it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have my aunt and sister either. I cried myself to sleep last night thinking about this, and telling my mom how sorry I was for how I treated her, that I didn’t see her more, that I made excuses, that I argued with her about the food, because in the end, it didn’t matter and I’m never going to be able to brush her hair or massage her feet, or spend a summer day at Reggae Fest, or listen to her sing while she cooks, or hear her say "I love you, baby" or "I'm proud of you" or even get to see her again, and I miss my mom, I want to see her, I want to hear her, I want her back.