My mom is dying. Regardless of the positives we recognize on a daily basis, regardless of the positives we invent and find relief in, regardless of the denial I'm constantly battered with, she's dying. In front of my eyes.
I feel guilty for recognizing this, for knowing it as fact, when I'm told over and over again to think positively, that miracles happen. Fuck miracles. I need someone here to be my partner in reality. Reality is a lonely business.
I left my home and moved to this emotionally repressed and depressed environment to be here for my family, to help in any way I could, to add stability to an unstable situation. I moved here out of love and the fear of regret. Unfortunately, I don't speak the same language they do; we don't share the same needs. The staunch, cold demeanor that says if we don't talk about something then it's not real is damaging to me. I need to cry, to let someone know I do feel. I need to talk practicalities while we still can. I need a hug most of all. My family and I are strangers to one another.
I knew this would be hard. The reality is beyond language capabilities. I did get hospice set up and they are fantastic. My job, as it's turned out, has been as taxi service (no one here drives), to listen but not be heard and financier of things I can no longer afford. My schedule has been such that job searching is severely limited. The money stress combined with the emotional stress has been overwhelming and I have to go back home. It seems I can do more long distance than I can right here and that breaks my heart. I love my mom, I'm thankful for what my sister's continuing to do, but for my own survival, I have to go back to my friends and the family I've built with them. I'm unable to be supportive in this situation without my own support.
Everyone who's been through this knows there is more between the lines. Anyone with less-than-ideal family dynamics knows it even more. I try to be strong every day when I start out; I try to find the necessary energies to deal with the different personalities; I try to function without the sleep that's eluded me for weeks now. I have nothing more to give to this vaccuum.
The guilt is immeasurable, the reality unbearable. I'll come back for the end, which could be a couple weeks, it could be a couple months. I don't know what's right anymore. I know, however, that if I stay through this I will not survive. Dramatic? Yes, but this is reality. My mom is dying and I have to say this goodbye before our final goodbye.
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