Next Tuesday, I will see my mom for the first time in nearly 2 years. The power of that fact is greater than I would prefer. I always want to be okay. I think I am, but know that on some level, I'm not. What I am is coping. In some ways well, in other ways, not so well.
I have no idea what Tuesday will bring. All of the fears of running into her at the grocery store, all of the anxiety and determination of maintaining this separation, will at least for 50 minutes, be shattered. I will have to face her. I will have to see her eyes. Another version of me thinks, I will get to see her eyes. This is so painful.
I love my mom so much. It's like a tidal wave, and it's not good for me. It's hurt me so much in the past. I don't know how I will feel to see her. How I can possibly keep my resolve, with her looking at me, pleadingly, telling me that she is so sorry..
My therapist said that my mom knows that her illness has hurt me. This is so fucking confusing. I don't know what I will do.
When I told two of my closest friends about the meeting, they quickly gathered me up, the future me, the Tuesday me. They made a plan for us to go for dinner after the meeting. They held me up, in advance. I cried then and cry again to write about it. I am so lucky to have them. I am so, unbelievably grateful.
The intensity of the pain that I am feeling is unexpected to me. I don't know what I expected, but I didn't expect to feel.. this.. It feels the same as when your heart is broken. It feels like I lost my mom to death, and will get to see her one last time. Just like how unbelievably fortunate and painful that would be. Except that it can't be that clean, pure pain. It is not a heartfelt reunion. It is tainted with guilt, with past traumas, and with very diluted anger. Above all of that, love does seem to rise. She is not gone, she is still here. I still have a chance to see her eyes, that mother who despite it all, I do love...
This is heartbreaking..
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