small and white

Tonight C called to tell us she'd been kicked out of the latest treatment centre. That's SEVEN recovery homes in ten months that have kicked her out. My disappointment is always tempered by the knowledge that these foibles make it harder for her to convince the courts to return her daughter to her. However, what is to temper this news for the child?

She tried to laugh at her mom. But it doesn't feel good to laugh at the person who brought you into the world. She tried to be angry. She has every right to be angry. But in the end it's heartbreaking and there's no other way to feel when the mother you trusted turns out to love drugs more than she loves her child. There's nothing that lightens that blow.

Tonight she sobbed. In my arms she sobbed because she knows her mother is dying, day by day, and that she will die feeling unloved by everyone, even her daughter, because there is no way to love this woman that doesn't involve turning yourself over to her, body and soul, to be consumed by her blackness.

While railing against some of their dogma, I've listened to, and understood (even appreciated) some lessons from NarAnon, AA, etcetera, about detaching with love.

And I'm trying to teach her.

Tonight, as she cried in my arms, she said, "No matter how happy I am, ever in my whole life, there will always be a shard of glass stabbing me in the heart; she'll always be there, no matter what, she'll always be there."

And how can I tell her that isn't true? It IS true. That shard has been stabbing me for as long as I can remember. But it must be so much sharper for her, because this is her mother. How can I help her? What can I do?

She's a beautiful girl. Optimistic and beautiful and bright. So these things increase her resilience. But her pain, I can do nothing about. Except to share it, and I do.



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