I spent most of yesterday lying in bed, like Brian Wilson did. I was sad so I went to my happiest sad place, that is my bed.
My daughter had been here for a week. We haven’t gotten to see much of each other this year due to all of the illness and caretaking of parents that my husband and I have been doing. I usually see her for the whole summer, and at Christmas time. Nice chunks of time together. This was the custody arrangement when I got divorced from my first husband. The idiotic judge split my two children apart. My son lives with me in Tennessee and my daughter lives with her drunken father in Massachusetts. Not ideal, but through this mess my daughter and I have maintained an extremely close relationship.
Every time she has left, over the 7 years I have lived in Tennessee, I have taken to my bed. When she leaves, I feel like I have lost an appendage. It rips me up, steps on my heart and makes me depressed.
Before I got sober, I used to lie in bed and drink after she left. This time it was just me, and endless episodes of The Gilmore Girls, one of our favorite shows.
There was an additional reason I spent 9 hours in bed yesterday. My mother was put into hospice care.
This shit just got real.
Of course, intellectually,since the diagnosis, I have known that my mother was given a handful of months to live. But so far, the medical world has been taking care of her, and she has been “fine”. As fine as a terminally ill patient can be. That was until yesterday, when the last medical option was exhausted, and she had to begin palliative care.
It was the perfect storm. Hospice, and no daughter.
I weighed my options. A bottle of wine? Rip the house apart looking for an errant vicodin? Or climb into the bed, click on Netflix, and loose myself.
I chose the Netflix option, only because I am sober now, and I have no vicodin.
I do know for a fact, that if I thought that there was one pain killing pill in this house, and I could have found it, I would have taken it. Accumulated sober days be damned. I would have flushed it all for just 2 hours of my sharp edges being rounded.
I contacted my sponsor and told her how I was feeling. It all made sense to her, feeling like shit, and wanting pain pills to make it go away. Not wanting to feel my feelings, the feelings alcohol used to numb.
“Feelings are like children, you don’t want them driving the car, but you don’t want them stuffed in the trunk either”-quote from a really stupid movie I watched last night.
Today is a new day, I feel slightly better, and the day count goes up by one