week 4

responding to Beth's comment:
I was wondering what it would feel like to learn compassion and caring from someone you can't trust. Seems more than a little challenging.

I can't really explain that one, but I'll give you my impressions. As far back as I can remember, I knew my mother couldn't be trusted. I don't remember anyone actually saying that to me, just something in my little kids brain said she's your mom, but take what she says/does with a grain of salt. When I ended up living with her again after several years of living with my grandparents, I was old enough to understand that she needed to be taken care of. The men my mother lived with (and often married) were also alcoholics, and most of them were physically abusive towards her. Not so much towards me, though I took some verbal abuse and the occasional smack, but after a night of drinking arguments would ensue, then the inevitable physical fighting would commence. Once it was over I would emerge from the woodwork and do the cleanup... ice packs, bandages, etc. Of course, everyone was sorry the next day and would promise that it would never happen again, etc. Even as a child you don't need to have too many promises broken before you figure out that words are cheap.

I guess that among the anger and disillusionment that I felt, I also realized that the drinking itself was a sickness. At the time I wasn't aware that my mother was manic depressive, and in fact she was never diagnosed with a mental illness. Looking back however, I can see her up and down cycles, how when she was having a good day/week things were always at an extreme high, then as she would cycle down off that high the drinking and depressive behavior would set in. She often began the verbal and physical abuse herself, pushing her current spouse until they were raging.

So, I felt sorry for her. I didn't "like" her, per se, but she was my mother and I felt responsible for taking care of her. That's where the glimmerings of the caring and compassion came into play. I will admit that as soon as I found the chance to escape and move back to the Seattle area with my grandmother I promptly left without a backward glance. As I got older, I kept in contact with her. My family and I drove to South Dakota and helped her pack up and move to Eastern Washington, and while she lived there we visited every few months. We would talk on the phone at least weekly and I found that with that distance I could deal with her drinking honestly, telling her that I didn't like it and encouraging her to stop. She never did, but at least I was able to voice my opinion and let her know how I felt.

She passed away in 1995 from complications of a septic bowel. Though I miss her in some respects, I can't honestly say that I miss the drama and the constant stress of worrying about her. I spent a few years feeling guilty because of that, but I've managed to move beyond the guilt (or at least I think I have!).

I think that those experiences allow me to feel compassion rather than exasperation for those with drug or alcohol issues. I realize that there are usually underlying reasons for dependence and I don't find myself judging them for their actions. Maybe I'm just grateful that I only have to take care of them for 8 hours at a time, rather than dealing with tehm on a daily basis like I did with my mother! I do know that I have much empathy with their families as I really do understand the situations they are living through.