Rock Bottom & Rehab

So on Wednesday, I basically got the worst text message of all time.

It was from my youngest brother, who is on group text with me, my other brother, sister and dad. 

At around 9:45pm, while I was finishing up my shift at work, the following message flashed:

"I found mom on the floor unresponsive, so we [him and my stepfather] called an ambulance to bring her to the hospital."
 
My brother is as dead-pan as you can get. 
 
Drama is not in his vocabulary. 

I could feel my throat close up.

I couldn't help but panic that this was the text message.

The one every relative to an alcoholic knows they will eventually get.

 
My sister who lives near me quickly organized to catch the next train out of DC to CT. 

Unfortunately, the next train wasn't until 3am. 

Before we boarded, we learned my mom was ok. She just slammed her head on the counter when she passed out and had a huge bump on her skull from it. At the hospital, they got her hooked up to her usual machines and was beginning to sober up.

But something was different this time. 

This was just too close of a call to push under the rug.

Too close to death to ignore.

 

Our train landed in CT around 8am. My brother who lives in Long Island picked us up from the train station. We drove straight to her house. She was just waking up when we got there and boy was it emotional. 

The four kids circled her and told her we loved her. We can't keep blowing off rehab as the "low-life" option. 

She needs this. 

We need her to love herself. 

And to take charge of her demons. 

And to not drown out life with a band-aid. 

Whether it be food or booze.

Usually when we have this conversation, it's like talking to a brick wall. But this time, she waved the white flag. We got her registered for  a center that day. She checked-in the following afternoon. 

It was so relieving yet so heartbreaking at the same time to wave goodbye. 

We hit rock-bottom. 

It's fucking terrible we had to get here. 

But could this be the beginning of change?

 

Five days later, I still feel like an emotional train wreck. I'm back in DC, trying to get back to work, but everything is just so foggy. 

The past few days do not even feel real. 

Whenever I think about it, I can't help but get a frog in my throat and have tears well. 

I'm destroyed that my strong, wonderful mom is in an institution because of her demons. 

But I'm also so proud she was strong enough to check-in.

It's become my new obsession to get her sorted once she finishes her inpatient treatment and switches to outpatient. 

She loves knitting and sends me a new hat every 2 weeks. Her doctors say it would be a great hobby to keep her sober and confident. 

So I've opened an Etsy shop and am trying to get as many orders as I can before she comes out. 

In the first day of trade, I've sold 20 - most to complete strangers of the family (my sister's sorority sisters who happened to like her hats!). There's also been a few purchases by family friends, etc. 

I can't wait to email her the order form. Get her hooked on something positive.

The shop has kept me positive, too. 

It has helped me from not completely breaking down into one of those uncontrollable sobbing fits.

 

At synagogue yesterday, the sermon was about how silly the Jewish people looked when they asked Moses to go back to Egypt after wandering in the desert. 

Even though they were SLAVES, being owned and beaten was better than the uncertainty of continuing to walk through the desert. 

Little did they know Israel was the end destination.  

It totally struck home with me.  

I can't focus my energies on the recovery desert. 

It's going to be long and hard and volatile.  

I just need to keep all eyes on her future serenity. 

Our future serenity.