Content Warning: Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Psychological Abuse
It is Saturday night and my phone rings. Nobody ever calls me. When I see it is my brother’s number my first thought is, “Oh, she’s dead.” There is no reason for my brother to call me other than something serious happening with my mother.
I cut both my brother and my mother out of my life many years ago. My brother sexually abused me throughout my childhood and my mother, I believe, knew about it (or should have known) and did nothing. When I disclosed the abuse to my parents in adulthood she defended his actions.
“Well, you know your brother has had a difficult life. He was teased and bullied because of his birth mark.” Yes, that’s really what she said. Then she attacked me for not having told anyone. Even my psychologist who facilitated the disclosure session was temporarily speechless.
There was physical abuse, psychological abuse, and emotional neglect from my mother throughout my childhood. My brother has never accepted any responsibility for his actions nor has he ever come through with the money I asked him for to compensate for the tens of thousands of dollars I have spent on therapy. This is the background upon which I experienced the death of my mother.
I pick up the phone and he tells me that she is in the hospital, not eating or drinking, and pretty much out of it now. I listen as to a stranger talking about a stranger. He is devastated (they have a super creepy symbiotic relationship that I won’t get into here) and I am completely detached. Let me be clear. I am detached NOT dissociated. There is a huge difference here, as in a thirty thousand dollars worth of therapy difference.
“So, what do you want to do?” he asks. There is a pregnant pause, into which I am assuming he is expecting me to say that I’m dropping everything, jumping in the car, and coming running from 500 kilometres away. Instead I take a deep breath, and say “Thank you for letting me know. I’m good here. Please keep me posted.”
I can almost hear his jaw hit the ground. Despite all that has happened, and the chasm between us he still expects me to come. To his credit he gets his shit together relatively quickly and says in a tight voice, “Okaaaaay.” Right. Bye.
I hang up and stare at the phone. I ask my trusty electronic companion if I’ve just done the right thing. My mother is almost 92 so I have had a very long time to prepare for this very moment. I have played this scenario over in my head so many times, but the truth is you never really know how it’s going to feel until you’re in it. Well, I’m in it now and……..I play it over in my mind and decide I’m good for now.
The next morning he texts to say her blood pressure has dropped dangerously low. I ask if she is still being hydrated by IV and he says yes. From my detached point of view as a medical professional I realize I need to intervene here. Somewhere inside I realize I have compassion for this dying person despite everything, simply because she is a fellow human being, and I cannot stand by and let her suffer needlessly. I also come to the more important realization that I am no longer angry. I am at peace in my own heart and it is only from this place of peace that the well of compassion can spring.
I take a deep breath again and text back suggesting that perhaps it is time to remove the IV and just let her go. He doesn’t reply and I realize he is likely not capable of voicing this decision to the medical staff at the hospital. Now I have another decision to make. How far does my compassion extend, and can I exercise it while maintaining my boundaries?
I contemplate for a while then I grab my phone again. I send a text offering to sit in by phone on a conversation with the attending physician. He seizes on this right away and tells me the doctor will be there soon. It is in this moment that I realize my compassion extends to him too. He knows this is the right thing to do but he is having too much difficulty saying it. I can empathize with the dilemma he finds himself in and I realize most people just can’t be decisive in these situations. And so I will help him. Despite everything.
A couple of hours go by so I check in again. No sign of the doctor but he has found the courage to ask for the IV to be removed. I have to say, some part of me is impressed. I didn’t think he had it in him. He tells me she is barely breathing. It won’t be long I think.
The hours tick by with no news. I check in again and he texts that her blood pressure is still low but has stabilized. What is she waiting for? I wonder if she is holding on in the hopes of hearing from me. It’s entirely plausible. Fuck. Compassion meter check again. What to do?
I have to sit myself down for a serious conversation now. So many questions race through my mind. How will I feel if I do nothing? Will I regret it if I say something? Will I regret it if I don’t? Am I selling myself out if I do? If I do it, who am I doing it for?
I finally realize there is only one question that really matters. How can I maintain my boundaries and still live within my values? For me what matters most is peace, authenticity, family, and compassion. This clarifies everything for me. In the end I decide that there is nothing I can say that would be truthful and heartfelt that is going to facilitate her peaceful passage off this earth. And if it’s not truthful and heartfelt then it is neither authentic nor truly compassionate. So I do nothing. And I am at complete peace with that.
The next morning I check in again. He says she’s still hanging on. An hour later my phone rings. He is sobbing. To my surprise compassion wins again. I truly feel bad for him. He has no one. He is seriously fucked up. He is now completely lost with no anchor. But it’s not my monkey. I will not take it with me as I turn toward my future.
I feel a lightness I’m not sure I’ve ever felt and I will NOT apologize for it. Compassion has sprung forth for two people who have caused me so much pain. This tells me that I am finally really truly healing. And I know without a doubt that I’ll be just fine.
This post is dedicated to those of you who have had the courage to share with me your similar experiences with a parent. May this help guide you when the moment comes for you. You are heroes to me.
