In a cruel twist of humanity, there comes a time when the one you've relied on for care, guidance and boo-boo fixin's turns to you for the same.
A few years back, my father had surgery for something or other. This was not his first major debilitating surgery, but it was the first one since I became an adult. My dad is incredibly strong and relies very little on others physically. In the months after his surgery, he shrunk in stature and had Grae and Owen move boxes of National Geographics between houses. A first glimpse of what will become my role as a real adult.
A couple weekends back, I went out to my parents' place to get a haircut and play the regular catch-up game. My mother confided in me that her medication had been taken off the market (liver problems and a history of patient addictions) and she had two weeks to be free of it (10 days at 2/3 of the dosage, 10 days at 1/3 the dosage). Years ago we had gotten into a huge argument about this prescription, as the way she described her experiences on it it was a clear case of physical addiction. I called her on it and she was infuriated that I was calling her an addict. I think I even hung up on her because she was getting so excited over something that she told me (in not so many words).
Two days ago, I called her to ask her a few questions about her experiences and opinions on euthanasia and disabilities (the education system sure makes you think dumb questions). We spend about an hour talking about how she was becoming increasingly unable to cope without her prescription. She described an anxiety attack in which she was certain that death was sitting at the end of her bed. She talked about her inabilities to cope with the slightest of things and was off of work indefinitely (a new job, and thankfully an understanding boss).
Today, she called me. She has been to three doctors in the past three days to be placed on three different medications. One is an anti-psychotic. One is a sister pill to valium, and the third is some replacement for the original prescription only without the addiction hook.
She has been unable to cope with people to the point where speech with others is impossible. Her medication lowered her down so that she needed to talk with another human being right then and there. My mother is deteriorating mentally. I'd be tempted to say that aside from her understanding to follow her instincts to talk when she needs to and hide when she absolutely must, she is officially crazy. She did not even remember talking to me earlier in the week. She didn't seem to remember me being out there a couple weekends ago.
There was a sort of "missing my only daughter" tone, and a tragic sort of "I'd miss you the most out of all my kids" thing going on. I think this is because I am the only one who actually let go and moved away. If I lived at home, I probably would have stabbed her this week to put us both out of her misery.
And, like my mother I am reaching out to you guys (in a very abstract kind of way as to not infringe on anyone if they don't want to talk about anything) because I'm lost in my own way.
I always imagined getting the call from my dad while in my Upper Manhattan apartment that my mother was losing it and that I should fly home. I wanted to be in my 60s. And if I was unlucky in my 50s. And, yes, I imagined my mother would, in fact, go nuts. It's genetic.
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