I’ve written a lot over the past few years about how the changes I’ve made have improved my life.

I haven’t said much about something else important, though: how these changes have allowed me to move the focus away from myself (and just getting by) to being of service, which I think is equally important. We are all part of a safety net, and for so many years, I was the weak string in the net. Now, I’ve been called upon to be the strong one, and I am the first to admit that it’s not only pulling a lot of the resources in my emotional bucket, as well as my physical one.

Even just a year ago, I would not have written about my mother so freely in this blog, for fear she’d read it. Not that I’d ever intend to hurt her, mind you, but the woman I know has crept away, her mind and her body stolen by age, infirmity, dementia.

When I was weak, I could count on her to be the strong one. Of course, I know most people are close to their mothers, but Mom and I were survivors together, fighting and then recovering from the abuser she divorced. Early in my blog writings, I spoke about some of the trials he put me through personally, but I don’t know that I’ve ever written, here, about how the end of their marriage finally came about. It matters, now.

My mother was trapped in her marriage and should have divorced years before, but back in the 70’s, when it finally happened, it wasn’t easy to be a divorced mother, let alone earlier in her life. I was 18 when my father stole away while both Mom and I were at work. It came after he pulled me out of college without my consent (I was a minor at the time, having graduated from school at 17), attempted to steal the savings I had worked hard on accruing since I became a full time employee by necessity, and he refused to get a job, living off of my mother’s and my meager incomes.

I came home from work one day and told Mom I had figured out a way to move out; I was going to move into an apartment with friends. I just couldn’t take the verbal abuse, the stalking, the passive-aggressiveness anymore. Mom’s response was “you’re not leaving unless I can go with you”. And that was that. She filed for divorce, served him, and he skipped town. Ever since that day, Mom and I agreed to see each other as equals (not an easy task), and we embarked on recovery together. She has been there for me on some of my darkest days and my greatest triumphs. She is, perhaps, the only living person who truly knows the dark challenges we faced together. My emotional scars are not as deep because she was there to help me heal.

She went from having absolutely nothing (because he took everything he could on the way out the door — she didn’t even get alimony) to building a career she loved dearly, to owning her first house — and then her second, to earning an associate degree. Her fight and determination were always strong. She became my jeans-wearing, Willie Nelson loving, I’m-living-my-second-life mother. She became what she wanted to be.

And now it’s time for me to repay the comfort she gave me as her body and her mind fail. I found her, a few days ago, fallen on her bathroom floor; she took her first ride in an ambulance to a hospital that kept me from being with her because of Covid. Now, she’s in rehab, hoping to regain her strength, but ever since being in the hospital, she refuses to speak to anyone. My heart breaks, knowing she thinks I did this to her in some way because she no longer has the capacity to understand.

Over the days and weeks to come, it’s my turn to be the strong one; to protect her interests, clean and prepare her home, see her through the process of likely moving to longterm care. I knew the moment I held her hand as I called 911 that it could possibly be the last time I was ever able to do that. My hope is that soon, this raging pandemic will taper off enough where I can visit her, hold her, tell her I love her, remind her that she’s worthy.

These are the moments where my own personal rebuilding have mattered most. Where restoration of both my physical health and emotional wellbeing have given me the steel and courage to do what needs to be done. I’ve cried a lot of tears while dealing with these rollercoaster ups and downs, but so far, I’ve held it together, even when I’ve had to fight the overwhelming sense that I’ve somehow failed her by not being there earlier for her. It’s the long goodbye, and I know it.

Among all the other challenges I face, along with everyone else who must see themselves through this pandemic, this has been the toughest, but I’ve also been a tiny bit proud that I haven’t run to food to comfort me, or simply crawl into bed in a darkened room to hide from the assault of emotions. I know I’m strong enough to face this storm, and I’m thankful for the decisions I made to start this journey.