My relationship with my mother has been tenuous at best over the last 20 years. In many ways because of the distance between us it doesn’t feel like I have the right to grieve and yet, I grieve anyway.

When she was alive there was a small sliver of hope that maybe she’d get better, become more emotionally balanced. With her death, that hope is snuffed out. I didn’t expect her to ever apologize for the crazy things she did (like not attending my wedding), but if she could have stepped away from the role of the victim … If she could have evaluated her life, reached out for help AND accepted it. If she could have stopped smoking, stopped drinking, stopped blaming everyone else for her problems. Hell if she could even have answered the phone more regularly that would have been an improvement.

None of this was EVER going to happen. But still with her death, now it’s NEVER going to happen. To me, that’s a powerful difference. In any specific situation, when hope is gone, all is truly lost

There are many great memories from my childhood and a few good moments in the last 20 years. I wish there could be more. She was a challenge for sure. I don’t miss the trips to Boston and the associated schedule juggling. I don’t miss being asked to advocate and then being told I was doing it wrong (even when she got the outcome she was looking for). I don’t miss the drama, but the fact that I’ll never hear her voice again gets me every time. Yesterday was my birthday. She always called and usually sent a card. Yesterday was the first time in 45 years I didn’t hear her voice on my birthday. It was an unexpected blow.

The last words I said were “Love you.” and I meant them even if they were tinged with a hint of frustration and exhaustion. There were still more words to say. We ended on a good note, but neither of us really thought that would be the last time we’d speak.

Despite all the anger and frustration, I did love her. I think I’d convinced myself I didn’t in the last few years. These last few weeks have convinced me otherwise. There is no one who loved me more. That all consuming love was in many ways her Achilles heel but I was the beneficiary and I feel the loss far more than I expected to.

Regrets are wasted time. This is especially true in this situation, because there is no way to go back and change things, The truth is I don’t think I would even if I could. The changes weren’t mine to make. I tried to help her. So many people tried, family, friends, medical professionals. Eventually, they all came to the same conclusion: She wasn’t able to accept help. Still, that’s not a tremendous amount of comfort. I have this unrealistic belief that I can move mountains if I try hard enough. It’s helpful in some situations, but in others, it is a devastating shock when I can’t actually move the mountain. I do take comfort in the fact, that I gave her my all, it just wasn’t enough. To save her, I would have had to sacrifice myself and I know that wasn’t want she really wanted. I just wish the mother I had in the second half of my life could have been the mother I had in the first half of my life.

The only thing I can do now is be patient with myself and make sure history doesn’t repeat itself with my kids.