At 8 o'clock yesterday morning, I received an out-of-the-blue, surprise phone call from my estranged, alcoholic, bipolar mother who told me that she is coming to visit me in San Francisco for the next week in time to see me during my surgery: my third craniofacial reconstruction, the first of three surgeries to reconstruct my nose.
I immediately told her that I did not want her to come and see me. I have not seen her in 12 years, and the estrangement was of my own accord as I was (like my brother and sister) trying to escape the emotional turmoil and negative influence of such a psychologically impaired woman. Over the phone just yesterday, she sounded as emotionally weak and troubled as ever I knew her. It was a stark reminder for me that I did not want her in my life.
I'd like to say that she was a terrible mother, spending all of my teenage years slumped over in an alcoholic stupor, violently reacting against her dysthymia and psychoses, but she did however succeed in raising three very responsible, respectable, honest, compassionate young adults. I just can not reconcile the trauma of living through all the tragic, negative experiences in my youth with a troubled woman's good intentions and motherly love. Neither of my siblings nor I can even remember any good times with our mother during our childhood and teenage years. It's all just nightmares!
Even though I told my mother that I did not want to see her while she is in San Francisco, she was still very adamant on coming. She said she had something to give me that she couldn't just send in the mail and that she wanted me to know that my mother cared enough about me to be present in my life during my trying times. I told her that I am already forced to deal with the complex emotional impact of a facial deformity and a changing visage, that I did not need to be additionally troubled by the anxiety and turmoil of reconnecting with my mother.
So she promised that she would make no attempt to see me. She would just visit the nurses at the hospital, to give them my gift and to have them let me know that she was there during my time of need. I plan on telling my doctors, nursces and social workers not to allow my mother to enter my room or visit me, while I am in the hospital. I myself was still adamant that I did not want her to come to San Francisco. She asked me to take a few hours to think about it and to call her back in time for her to be able to catch the bus to the airport in Pittsburgh. My mom lives in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.
So I hung up the phone and immediately called my brother to tell him of these developments and to get his advice on a decision about my mother's arrival. He provided some very insightful, compassionate advice. He told me, as a father, he understands my mother's desire to be there for her sickly son in his time of need, even if just to hold my hand and whisper in my ear that she loves me. He said despite all the terrible things she put us through as children, despite our resentment, she deserves the privilege of being present in my life at this time.
Although, he said that I needed to make it abundantly clear that that's exactly what it would be: a privilege, and that I have ever right and need to establish certain boundaries. My boundary is that I do not want to see her while she is here. We can write letters back and forth and talk on the phone for a long while, reestablishing our relationship, testing the waters far before I'd be ready to see her face to face. I do not want my mother to bring be down as I struggle to adjust to living with a deformity.
So, I called her back and agreed to let her come to San Francisco under the stipulation that she would make no attempt to see me. I might have her meet my Social Worker, Peer Advocate and AIDS Specialist from 360: The Positive Care Center at UCSF Medical Center so that she can understand what I've been going through these past five years and know that I am well taken care of. I even found her accommodations at a charitable, nonprofit boarding house in the Castro called "The Family Link." It only will cost her a $30.00 per night donation for a one week stay, and I've already set up her reservation.
I'm just waiting for her to call me when she arrives in San Francisco to get directions on how to get to the boarding house from the airport. That's the least I could do for her to express some love and appreciation; otherwise, she would be living in the airport and hospital waiting rooms for a whole week. I had that experience when I first arrived to San Francisco in 2003, and I will not have my mother live like that, even for just a week.
Another insightful thing my brother said was that IDEALLY, her visit could be a catalyst for improvements in our relationship. I wasn't expecting such a mature, level-headed response from my brother. I know that my sister is going to bust a nut when she finds out. I honor my brother for his maturity and compassion toward me and my mother. I'm proud to have him as a brother. I don't know if I'll ever be as proud of my mother. Not even close!
So where does that leave me? Walking into my surgery on Monday with a little anxiety about my mother but more excited about getting a new nose. I'm proud of myself. I was able to keep a level head through this entire ordeal over the phone with my mother and not to be perturbed by her contacting me. I inherited a devastatingly difficult bipolar disorder from my mother and I must say, from our conversations on the phone, I certainly have a stronger, healthier grasp on my psychological health than she does.
Unlike my mother, though our separation, I have grown into a relatively more stable person, who lives through my emotions less viscerally and extreme. Though I have hills and valleys, bouts of mania and depression, but I stay well medicated and am always on guard to monitor my emotional gauges. This experience with my mother over the phone has helped me realize that I indeed do have control over my emotions. Thanks be to God!
In hope of some sort of reconciliation, solace and peace!...
