Making Decisions about My Mother’s Treatment Shook the Foundations of My Sense of Wellness

My mother is gone now, and that cannot be undone with any number of second thoughts. There is no do-over. There are no second chances. But there are a million “what if’s” circulating throughout my brain and keeping me from sleeping. They also keep me from thinking. I’m incapable of feeling anything other than remorse, guilt, and shame. Guilt, fear, and shame are the shackles of addiction, certain poison for alcoholics. The day my mother died I had been sober for 20 years and 364 days, and I wasn’t sure I would make it to year 21.

I am blessed to have a truly amazing wife, a large family, two wonderful partners, an abundance of good friends and colleagues, and legions of people who know and love me. It is a credit to their love and support that I did make it through that day and found myself sober on my 21st anniversary, made it through that day. And the next, and the following week, and even after her funeral, until today. It gets a little better every day, although the setbacks are real.

I’m reminded of a passage on grief that was shared with me by my father’s best friend and roommate at The Southern Seminary in the 1950s. The original source isn’t known, although it made the rounds on Reddit several years ago, and is a response of an old man to death:

“I am old. What that means is that I’ve survived, so far, and a lot of people I’ve known and loved have not. I’ve lost best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, other relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks.

I’ve never gotten used to people dying, never have, but here’s my two cents about losing those whom we love. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love that I had for that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love.