The material presented
here is not Al-Anon Conference Approved Literature. It is a method
to exchange
information, ideas, feelings, problems and solutions on a personal
level.
I still remember the first time I heard that my mom had been admitted to the hospital for drug-related problems. I was angry, scared, sad and confused, and I felt betrayed. Questions ran through my mind. How could she do this to me? How could she do this to her family? Was it my fault? I felt that it was; that I had done something wrong. As if I had fought with her too much the day before. As if I had rebelled enough to grive her over the edge.
I think back to when I was younger, and I don't really remember my mom being there when I needed her. I never talked to her about the guys I liked, or shared my feelings if I was upset. In turn, she never confided in me when she was sad or needed someone to talk to. My life was never ''normal'' like all the girls in my class. Why didn't my mom take me shopping? Why didn't my mom ever come to my basketball games, teacher conferences or orthodontist appointments? Then it hit me. My mother, an R.N who worked in the emergency room for numerous years- a great nurse, a friend to all- was a drug addict. My dad tries to convience me that everything would be ok, that if she moved away for a while, we would all be fine. But I knew deep in my heart that I needed my mother.
The next few days while my mother was in de-tox were hell. It still hadn't sunk in. I had no one to talk to, and there were so many unanswered questions. I watched home vidoes of when I was a little girl and wished everything would be ''normal.'' I know now that it was never normal.
Then my mom called from the hospital. I remember her voice was soft and weak. She said she was sorry for everything. I wanted to tell her to come home, that I loved her and everything would be okay from now on. Instead, I kept telling her that it wasn't her fault, and between my sobs I said good-bye. You see, I wasn't suppose to cry. I was suppose to be the strong one.
The next day, we went to visit her. I didn't want to talk to her because I was afraid of what she might say. It was weird having those feelings toward my own mother. I felt she was a stranger, someone I didn't know.
She came home on a Tuesday. We talked for a while and she said that she wanted me to come to meetings with her. I said that I would, not knowing what kind of people I would met or what they would be like. So I went, and the meetings really helped me understand that what my mom was going through was a disease, and that no one was at fault. I also met some great people who helped me understand things even further.
I was still unsure, though. At meetings, I heard all this talk about relapse and how to prevent it. What if my mom relapsed> How would I deal with this a second time? I remember when my mom was using drugs, she would stay in her bedroom for long periods of time. One day, after noticing that my mom hadn't some downstaires for a while, I got frightened. I tried to tell myself that even if she slipped, we would get through it, but I didn't really believe we could. I forced myself to go upstaires and see what she was doing. I was scared as I opened the door to her bedroom, afraid of what I might see. I found her in her bed, reading a prayer book. I knew then that my mom was going to make it!
She had pullen through, and because of it, were able to begin the mother-daughter relationship that we never had. I finally had a mom.
Princess: I'm so glad that you are finding things like this to read. It really does help, doesn't it? When I am feeling down and worried, I find that reading the right thing can bring me back again.
