The first time I have seen my mother in 11 years......

  

                My son, like every teenager, is looking for independence.  In the winter/spring of 2010, we started to ride the city bus to get familiar with his surroundings, learning how to ride the bus, and so that I could personally see him do it without my help.

On one Friday, I was riding the bus home, minding my own business when I heard a voice, that voice! I swear a nail went down my back, I can't even look up, I'm emotionally frozen. I keep listing to her voice... Finally, I slightly look up to see a profile view of an older, beaten down woman! My mother, who had her life shoved into a duffel bag. She is homeless. I can see the signs. I am still in disbelief, no, it can't be her. I don't want it to be her. My life is great, and she is hard to deal with, I am ashamed, she is my mother, I am ashamed of my thought, right then and there. I am looking for something that really, really proves it her... I looked at her right ear lobe, and there it is, the scar from when my cousin pulled on an earring. I'm frozen what do I do???  

  God help me now. I started to think and panic. I will regret if she gets off on the next bus stop, I will regret if I talk to her and she makes a scene. I will regret if I just talk to her.....I grab all of my courage, I gripped on to the metal bar that is attached the bus seat in front of me, and twisted my hands back and forth, until the metal under my skin was hot. I pulled myself together; I took one-step toward her. We lock eyes. She doesn't recognize me??? I can see it in her face.  The tears start rolling out of control. I can't breathe. 

"Mom" I whisper, "mom it's me.” I sit down next to her, and I grabbed onto her.  I'm sobbing so hard. I can't even see.

  "Heather, is that you?" she says, "What are you doing on the bus? Don't you have a car?" I ignore her questions. I asked her, “Where have you been?” She starts laughing and said, “It is you, who has been missing.”  I just smiled at her.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        To To this day, I have no idea why I asked her that. I kinda knew she was homeless on the streets for the last 3 years.

 Then she got serious and asked about my son. I said he's doing great, I started to brag as every mother does. Especially, since the daughter side of me wanted her to know, that I am a good mother. She started to ask about my other kids?  (I knew she had manifested, this in her world, what my mother didn't know was that my brothers and I have been reunited for the last few years. So they shared a lot of info with with me) when I told her, I don't have but one child.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  "Are you sure?" I had to reassure her that in fac,t I had only one child. The look on her face was so unreal. It looked like; two worlds were smashing into to each other. Truth vs fiction. She asked again, and I reassured her again.( Talk about flash back to the child hood of when she would think something was true, but really it was not. She would always fight you to tooth and nail, because she believed she was right.)  She quickly changed the subject and started talking about herself. How she hired a P.I. looking for me. (unfortunately a lie) how she was homeless(true) how her car was stolen and she was beaten (unsure) and she went on and on. All I could think was she's homeless and I don't want her sleeping on the street, BUT I don't want my son seeing her like this. What do I do??? Then I hear her say she has job. She is holding signs when stores go out of business. Great, I thought, she is working and this is an improvement from the last time I saw her. Maybe she is getting better. Snap! I am back to reality when I hear her say; she needs to wash herself up at Jack in the Box (Down town Tacoma) because she pissed on herself while sleeping on the ground last night.

( I'm in disbelief. I'm 13 again...holly shit. I'm not shocked that she's homeless. I'm shocked I ran into her. And why? Why? Why now. I have recovered quite well from my child hood of having to live with her and her mental illness. I have  achieved so much for coming from nothing but chaos.)

 We exchanged phone numbers and she got off the bus at Jack in the Box downtown ... I am left behind, to cry uncontrollably. A few minutes pass by and this guy across the way said, and I will never forget his words, “What a wonderful day!  You and your mother found each other. Right here in front of me. What a miracle. How lucky are you?  There's no need to cry. You should be happy!"                                                 

SREAMING IN MY HEAD!!!!!!    " FUCK YOU!!!! You don't know shit, you fucking tweaked out, tweaker!!!  LUCKY???? Fuck you!!!!!!!!

 I looked up and smiled at this idiot...  and whet back to my thoughts.

I am having the worst panic attack, I have ever had in my life! I tried calling my 1^st brother, and I  left a crazy message on his voicemail (sorry). Then I called my husband, and then called some friends... Why is everyone is working?????  Ha ha ha…. That's what I get for having Fridays off...

 I got off the bus, and I was in the middle of a tornado of emotions that lingered for a long time, and  I think guilt was the heaviest of them all.( Thanks to friends and family, it has been easier, and easier to deal with her)

 And she started to text me, I asked her where was she staying? On the streets, she replies. I asked her to come and stay the night. After going back and forth with her, she finally accepted my invitation..... She stayed the night, a night to remember………..

Intro to my mother has schizophrenia

I am blogging my journey, of being a daughter, whose mother has schizophrenia. She has recently came back into my life around 10ish months ago after, I was absent for around 11 years. The chapter in my life of dealing with my mother, I thought it was finished forever. But, I am learning it is only beginning. There's a medical side of me, can realize that my mother could be considered another lost case in the system, but still wishes for her to be better, normal, and in control of her life. The child/ daughter is still angry, frustrated, and inpatient with her, for many reasons. I am working on these issues. I am trying to move forward, and accept her and try to enjoy her, the best I can. After all, she is my mother. I am an adult with a child, and having a hard time opening my house to her. I am afraid of her having an episode. It's real hard to grab ahold of my emotions and stay calm, when she is in the middle of her episode. I have to grab deep down inside of me, back to when I was a child, and was used to her daily. I have forgotten or suppressed the copping skills, when it comes to dealing with my mother.

I hope that I can learn and grow from this blog, thank you for reading my blog....

My mother MRJ was diagnosed with schizophrenia back in 79-80's. There was an incident with a gun, held by my mother, and it was pointed at my father, who was holding me in his arms. When she fired the gun into the wall, my father dropped me. He left me, and called the cops. Therefore, the courts had her evaluated. (My aunts and fathers version) my mother’s version is a little more colorful.

 Let me speed up to the divorce between my father and my mother. (I was around 6) It was a hard time for her. She lost her house, and we moved into a basement of an old friend of hers. That started a chain of homelessness, living in her cars, couch hopping, shelters, evictions, living in a campground for the whole summer break. This went on for about 10 years. In addition, in those 10 years I became a big sister to 2 brothers. My first brighter came around age 8, and the 2^nd brother came around the age of 15ish. It seemed like every 8 years she had a child. Finally after having 3 children, and she was in the relationship with father of my 2nd bro, my grandfather paid for a 2 bed room trailer with a little bit of land. By then I was 16 yrs old and I had turned to drugs and was in and out of the house since I was 15. (and that's a whole diff chapter) I was in trouble or being sick of living that life, with her mood swings, crazy thinking, irrational thinking, and at times she got violent with me, and so the list goes on and on. When I finally did leave, I didn't speak to her but maybe a hand full of times. When I became pregnant with my son, I wanted him to know his family. See, my mother had isolated us from her family, she states they were all evil and dead to her. I believed they were evil, until I was on my own and hunted down my aunts. In reality if you pissed her off, she would turn her back and stop talking to you. If I wanted to see my brothers, I had to talk to talk to my mother, which was hard, I was still angry with her. I hated her.

We had a falling out. I wanted my mother to get help. She refused the idea; she kept staying, she would never be let back out (Western State). I begged her; she was hearing voices, thinking every car that drove by her house was spying on her. She thought the father of my 3^rd brother was trying to kidnap him. She started setting up traps in her yard. When I blew up yelling at her, that she needs help! She  needs to be on medicine! My brothers can stay with me while she goes and gets help. Once I said, “taking my brothers off her hands” She lost it. Screaming at me, I was the crazy one, and I was out to get her committed.                                                                                                                   

   Well She was right, I was crazy for thinking she would agree, and yes I did want her committed, and locked away so that I would never have to deal with her. We stopped talking altogether. Once in a while, she would try to contact me, when she decided she wasn’t mad at me anymore, and I would ignore her. I was still angry with her.

 Then Years and years went by, about 11 of them or so and during those years, I was ok with not speaking to her, although, I missed my brothers, and worried about them all of the time. (until we were reunited about 3 yrs ago, that’s  another chapter) When I started to understand schizophrenia a little, that is when the hate of my mother started too melted away a little. I was still angry with her, for not trying to get herself help, so she could have given us kids a better life. Well that was my thought process back then. Since I have grown up a bit, my feelings for my mother has changed, there is the side that wants to grab her, hug her, and help her. The other side of me is scared to death of her, and her mental statist, and what she is capable of doing and saying. I am still in the process of learning how to deal with my mother and healing old wounds that I have suppressed……

 The Friday, we did reunite on the city bus, is a day I will never forget......