MY HERO

I am going to admit, I've been depressed these last couple weeks, but on Wednesday I reached the lowest point.  I've had three hospitalizations in the past for "breakdowns" so I am much too familiar with the difference between just being in a bad mood and reaching the danger level of depression. 

When you feel this way, it's hard to think logically.  But somewhere along the line, I got it into my head that when I reach that level, I must reach out and call someone.  It was extremely hard to do that in the beginning.  It's hard to admit that you have lost control.  It's a pride thing, but it's like a basic human desire to be in control, and have others think you are in control.  Making a phone call and asking for help is very difficult, comparable to speaking in public for some people.

So on that day last week when the tears started flowing and I couldn't stop them, I knew what to do.  One of the things that helped was having my cats in the house with me because not only did they respond to my sadness, but I knew I was not alone.  Cirrus, the one we've had the longest, stared at me with those eyes that asked, "What is this strange thing you are doing?"

I wanted to escape his stare, so I retreated to my bedroom where all three of our cats joined me.  Cirrus came right up to my head and planted himself next to me, willing to stay as long as it took.  The other two knew something was up, so they just found a cozy part of the bed and went to sleep.

I took the phone with me, and reached for it three times before I made a call.  I thought about who might be available, who might be working or busy, who might understand and talk me through this episode.  I would pick up the phone, and then get scared and put it down.  Finally of all people, I called my mother.  Here I am, 52 years old, still calling Mom. 

But she was the right one.  She knew me best, knew without asking, knew what to say, knew what to do.  And she took action and immediately made plans to come and spend the night.  She didn't make me feel stupid or childish.  She showed me that she cared enough to stop what she was doing and come to my house; a 75 year-old woman driving one hour away in the winter weather. 

She did much more than that as the night went on, and all the next day, but that would take a book to write.  She is not and will never be the perfect mother figure.  She is a little crazy sometimes herself, dealing with being a new widow, and finding her own lost childhood, but the fact is that she still tries to do her best.  I have been angry with her and forgiven her a few times, and sometimes I think we may have grown up together. 

But the thing she did right was to show me that despite the mistakes, she will always try her best to be there, and I always knew that she loved me more than her own life.  She has made incredible sacrifices to "save" me, help me, comfort me, give to me, and love me.  Other family members don't understand our relationship, but they also don't understand my illness. 

It seems to me that as a grown daughter I am the one who should be caring for mom at this point, but with Fibromyalgia all the "shoulds" get thrown out the window. I "should" be a better wife, mother, sister, friend, daughter. I "should" have a cleaner house, a good job, a better schedule, the list goes on and on. But all I can do is accept what I have been given and do what I can. God will have to pay my mom back for all the sacrifices she has made. All I can do is humbly say "thanks Mom".
I don't know why I get depressed.  I have medicine, therapy, family, friends, and whatever I need to get through each day.  Even though I have disorders, God has provided me with what I need to get through each day.  I lost my dad over a year ago, and I can't imagine losing my mom.  I pray that if that day comes, God will give me the strength to continue on. 

I wish that everyone had people like I do, especially those with chronic pain and disabilities.  It's hard to ask for help, but remember that you are allowing someone else the opportunity to fulfill their purpose when they are helping you.  It's not a fun position to be the one receiving help, but it's the way life works.  One of the greatest gifts you can give is to help someone without making them feel helpless.

"The greatness of a man's power is in the measure of his surrender."
............... William Booth, founder of the Salvation Army,