The word of the day is, you guessed it, compartmentalizing. Before going to see my mom today, I was having one long meltdown. I had no idea how I was going to keep my emotions in check during my visit when all I could think about was how this, in all reality, was probably my last Mother’s Day with my mom. I didn’t think I could do it and found myself making that my mantra while getting ready. Not to mention the fact that I’m childless not by choice so Mother’s Day is an emotional day for me anyway. Needless to say, my emotions were at an all-time high. Driving to the hospital I had a heart-to-heart talk with myself. I told myself that my main goal was not to cry in front of my mom and upset her. I also told myself that my emotions could not control me today, that I had to control them. Enter the idea of compartmentalizing. Mentally I created a room in my brain that had concrete walls three feet thick and encased in titanium and stuffed all the emotions I had been feeling this morning and slammed the door and locked the twenty padlocks on it and headed into my mom’s room. She had been put back on BiPAP this morning because her oxygen levels dropped again. The first half hour or so my mom just kept asking me to take her home. I could feel those concrete walls cracking in my brain and I just forced myself not to think about it. I had to tell her several times that the doctors feel that she just wasn’t ready yet. And she seemed to accept my reasons only to ask me seconds later when she could go home. At one point I mentally added another foot of concrete to that room. All in all, though, I got through it without breaking and, as I walked out, I felt pretty proud of myself that I was able to control my emotions and didn’t let them control me. I did what I thought was impossible.
You’ve hurt me again. I lie here in tangled sheets a mess of raw nerves unable to sleep. My hear races trying to keep up with the thoughts that are chasing each other through my brain. Frustratingly I roll over and try to go to sleep but eventually give up and get up to sit in the corner chair. Wrapping myself in a blanket I sit and stare out the window into the night sky as if the answers to my questions are out there somewhere. I’m so tired of questioning myself about your choices. Why you wouldn’t stop in and see me after driving three hours to visit our mom in the hospital. I was only another 15 minutes away. It wouldn’t have taken much more time, even a five-minute visit would have been enough. Or why not let me know you were coming so I could have met you at the hospital? Why didn’t you want to see me? We’re sisters, aren’t we? What I would give to feel comfortable enough to call you and ask you these questions. However, I know you feel little empathy or compassion when it comes to me, which saddens me even more. I find myself wondering why the most toxic people in our lives are usually related to us. Why is that? Who decided to tether our hearts to people who overlook, ignore, and dismiss us over and over again? The first rays of sunset rouse me from these thoughts and I stumble back to my cold sheets and try to find some sleep before morning has fully arrived.