Wobbly Wonderings

It has occurred to me that time is running out. My non-biological mother lives far North in the prairie lands of Canada. She has become progressively mentally ill since long before I knew how to walk. These days as an adult in my late twenties, I can see that her functionality is decreasing. With or without medication she can barely hold a conversation. I am sure that the medication gives her some sort of grounding so that she can function as necessary throughout her day but I wonder how much of her mental illness is emotions trapped inside of her head with no conversation by which to escape.

I have been meaning to talk with her for years. After six years of not seeing her in person, I went for a forty-eight hour visit last summer. She shuffles in her knee length shorts through the house to her cigarette roller where she stuffs and packs tabacco into fifty pre-made cigarette shells. Her medication keeps her relatively sedated for the first of the morning, her eyes barely open enough to watch afternoon t.v. Again, her medication is administered at noon, another forty-five minutes of drool and unconsciousness. Later in the evening, a final dose puts her out for the rest of the night.

I wonder if she knows how much she has deteriorated in the last decade. I wonder if she is able to rationalize where she is and how she got there. I want to ask her questions about her life: what was life like on the streets? How do you resolve being sexually molested by your brothers? How do you feel about giving up your first daughter for adoption? Do you remember beating my mother? Why did you cut yourself?

I feel as if time is running out. Her weight gain, her mentality, her dependence on others has me questioning what kind of time I really have to ask these questions. She is my other mother. For fifteen years, although most of them wrought with abuse, she helped raised me. She was my greatest friend and my worst enemy. The most gentle and the most frightening person I know. My life has been infused with her presence in both negative and positive ways. This time, it is time for my own resolve.

Looking for opportunities to travel to her this spring. Spend two weeks with her and a dictaphone. Talk about the things that we have never got to talk seriously about. Ask her about her feelings, her life, what happened and what she remembers. Look for a way to resolve, this life that was built around the love the I have for her, regardless of the illness that nearly killed us.