There's an Amy Winehouse song called "REhab". The lyrics referenced above were my mother's mantra for many years. She would not be happy reading this, but sometimes there are things we must write about when the muse strikes us. Now is that time.
My prescription medication addicted mother went into rehab on her own free will last Thursday. This was the same day I was to give my demo lesson in front of a class full of graduate students. Since I am in an intensive grad course, I was unable to go with my father to take my mother to her destination. I was secured in New Albany, nowhere near the northeast side of Indianapolis, so I was cut off from the day's events.
I talked to my mom on Sat. afternoon. It is the first time she has sounded human in years. An on and off addiction of twenty years has taken her away from us. It almost sounded as if she may return when I talked with her a couple of days ago. I hope so, because it has been too long. I had resigned myself to the thought process of not having a living mother. That sounds incredibly harsh and unempathetic. Folks, believe me when I tell you that the aformentioned is a coping mechanism that some resort to in the extreme cases. This was one of those cases.
When users go so far, it gets pretty unbearable for the survivors of the usage to sit back and watch. I was one of those survivors; I no longer wanted to partake in watching my mother's demise. So, I didn't. I cut myself off from her as much as I could.
I'm ready for her to come back to life.
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