In the dream, I was face-to-face with her, as she spilled her usual excuses over why I shouldn't visit.
Unlike in real life, I had the courage to state the obvious.
You don't want me to come because you won't be able to drink.
But in my dream, there was no denial. She said
Yes, that's the only reason why. I don't know how to stop.
Then, we argued. I couldn't help but beg. Take AA seriously. Go to that outpatient program. Please, put everything you have into fighting this.
Otherwise, you'll just end up dead in a few years.
No, no, I'm not going to anything like that. I'd rather just be left alone.
I think my dream was spurred by a powerful blog written by Kitty last night. About when drunks die. In their eulogy, do we skim over the last few decades of their life when they were a slobbering disappointment? Or do we immortalise their character before the disease?
After all the rock bottoms my mom has faced with no real effort to sober up, I only then started to realise that my real mom is dead.
The woman who cradled me into who I am today is not the same person telling me 'winter is bad time to visit' (note: I only live a 4 hour train ride away. It's not a hard/expensive trip at all). The woman who led my girl scout troop in 2nd grade is not the same person as the embarrassment at every family reunion. The woman who used to set up extravagant dinners every Friday night is not the same person who had to be detoxed for four days after almost dying from alcohol-induced pneumonia.
My dream was almost a scream for help to G-d. I want my mom back so bad and I know nothing I'll ever do will bring her back. So in the comfort of my sleep, I beg for her. I plead for progress. I cry for change.
Because I don't want her leaving Earth with this diseased soul.
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