Yesterday was a day long in the making and one I had been dreading. My maternal grandmother, maternal uncle, nephew, and I drove down just outside of Charlottesville, Virginia to visit my mother. For those of you new to the ongoing saga of my family, my mother has been in jail in Virginia for about 18 months now, with a brief respite of freedom around the Spring of 2007. Her incarceration was the result of her being with my sister and the continued spiral her life had taken in the last few years as a result of drug use–something I did not realize until much later.
On top of all of this, it was just two weeks ago that my mother told me she suffered a minor stroke. She suffered a small stroke in her sleep, and she was very upset as to what had happened. She had some memory problems as she spoke to me that morning, as I talked to her in my bleary-eyed state as she woke me up that morning. I did not know what else to say at the time, but my major concern was her recovery. Was she receiving therapy? What did the doctors say? Do they know the severity of the stroke? She was upset at the time, and as the phone call ended, her one driving thought was that I bring my nephew along.
In the two weeks since that call, I worked with the Baltimore City Department of Social Services. After explaining the situation, my nephew’s social worker and her supervisor were able to get me the appropriate paperwork authorizing him to travel with me. I was surprised that this only took one week to accomplish, and I knew that it would make my mother happy. It was after all this paperwork was done, though, that I remembered that my mother’s birthday was on July 22nd. How could I have forgotten that?
The drive was long, and I was tired after a long night the day before. I had to pick up my nephew in Woodlawn, and I then drove out to Carroll County to meet at my uncle’s house before we continued on our adventure. The drive was fairly quiet, though. No one talked about the elephant in the room, yet we all knew where we were going and who were to see.
My grandmother was unable to join us, as she forgot her photo identification and was unable to be cleared to visit. She was forced to wait for us outside, and I knew that this made her pretty sad, even catching her briefly crying. After going through the somewhat embarrassing yet required check-in as a visitor to the correctional institution, we were transported to the gym inside the complex. It was there that we waited, seated in the plastic chairs one finds on a backyard patio or deck. I did not see my mother arrive until she was there, giving me a hug.
At first, I was a bit surprised by her appearance. It was striking, as I had not seen her in some time. Her hair was shorter than it has been, and it dawned on me much later that I had not seen my mother for something approaching three years. She also looks older–I can only presume the results of the stress and worry her incarceration has had coupled with the way she was forced to live after leaving Baltimore.
Later, though, it became obvious that my mother was happy to see us. Personally, I really had not much to offer my mother. She knew what was going on in my life, and I had not much else to offer aside from the usual–work, play, house, talk about my grandfather, repeat. She enjoyed seeing my nephew, and I expected that given that she spent a good part of his life raising him.
A little more than halfway through our visit, the volunteer staff took us aside to take our photograph. Although I tend to detest photos, I stood in. It made my mother pretty happy, even if the camera stole some of my soul in the process. ;-) She now has a photo of my uncle, nephew, me, and her to enjoy. I can only hope it brings her as much joy and comfort as it did that afternoon. While we chatted, I could see some of the effects of her stroke. My mother had problems recalling certain words as we talked, as though the words were just on the tip of her tongue. She did not seem physically as bad as I had expected, but it was hard to tell how it had effected her. While it was easy to see her struggling for words, it was hard to see the physical ravagers that the stroke had “bestowed” upon her.
After some more conversation, we wrapped up our visit. The guard came by to give my mother her identification, and she gave us our paperwork to proceed back to the main entrance. I did not realize how long it had been, but we spent over 2 hours there talking to her. At this point, my mom became clearly sad. We all hugged, and we said our goodbyes. We also got to watch my mother depart the gym/meeting area, escorted back to the place she now calls anything but home.
It took some time for my thoughts and feelings to gel after this visit. Had I really been so bad to not realize how long it had been since I had seen my mother? How much had my mother changed to drive me so far away? How much had I changed? How bad is it that I forgot her birthday? Am I so wrapped up in the selfish concerns of my life to forget about her? How is she going to recover from the stroke over the long term?
Looking back, one of the toughest choices I had to make and standby was the choice I made to not help my mother as she descended into the personal hell of her own making. Even now, it is difficult to continue to maintain my independence, knowing what my mother has been through. Still, I know that if I had ever waivered, my sanity, among other things, would have been lost. I had to do this.
There’s part of me, though, that thinks that the actions I have taken over the last three years–it has been that long–with my mother have dehumanized me in some way. I no longer have the relationship I once had with my mother, and I still do not know if I will ever have that same relationship again. Something has changed, but I can only hope that this time my mother has spent away from the people she loves has taught her an invaluable lesson. I also hope, in some way, I learned a lesson, too. I just wish I knew exactly what that lesson is.
Tagged Family Matters, Personal
