I tried my best. I really did. But things fall apart. My mother was bipolar and wouldn’t take her meds, so the highs were too high and too dangerous and then the lows were dark, prolonged and scary.
She fought going into the hospital, but it wasn’t safe-she wasn’t safe. We had no alternative. She’s been in there a week and won’t see me. I feel like I deserve that because I failed her, even though the rational part of my brain knows that there’s truly nothing else I could have done. You have to help others if they can’t help themselves, even if the price you pay is steep. I only hope she may forgive me when she stabilizes.
© 2023 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.