This post is for me. 

This is a note to myself that I need to make a trip to see my mother.  I didn't see my mother for Christmas.  She lives far away in a home.  I sent her gifts but those certainly won't make up for not being there. 

I guess I just want it known that I wished things were different.  I wished that my mother's life didn't end up the way it did.  It wasn't her fault.  It wasn't anyone's fault.  But this doesn't make you feel any less sad.

Despite my mother's mental illness, I know she loved me.  Despite the fact that I grew up in poverty I knew she loved me.  Despite the neglect and sometimes abuse, I know she loved me.  And I know she still does.

There were times I could see glimpses of the mother that could have been.  She would be smiling, cheerful, productive, and sane.  She was smart, artistic, and compassionate.  But mental illness stole her away. 

I guess I could ask "why" or launch into a wallow of self pity.  I confess I have at times.  But then you gotta just say...this is how it is.  How do I deal with it?

I was always afraid to become my mother.  Always wondering if I too would succumb to delusions or feel so frightened by the world that I would hide away.  It never happened.  I could never enter that world of hers.  I am grateful but there is a part of me who wishes to understand.  I can never walk in her shoes as I am not schizophrenic. 

My mother is getting old.  It is hard to see her...emotionally.  It is also hard because I have my own life, my own children who need me, and my own problems including my new disease of Multiple Sclerosis. 

I need to see my mother.  I need to make that trip. 

Selfishly....not even so much for her but for me.