What would Maxine think?...

What would Maxine think?  Lately, as I've been contemplating all the writing I've done about mental illness, I really have found myself wondering what my Mom would have thought about it.  And I've come to the conclusion that she might have been proud of my advocacy, but she would hate my discussion about her.  Maxine thought that the problem was in the outside world.  She didn’t see any problem with her behavior.  When we tried to discuss her hygiene with her, she simply responded by cussing us out.  She wouldn’t have been able to explain to us why she wasn’t bathing.  Even when we approached her with sympathy, she told us that the problem was with us.  And she wouldn’t use such nice language in doing so.  Like I've said before, I learned what the word ‘slut’ means far earlier than I should have.

Does that mean that I am violating something by publicizing this discussion?  No.  And I will tell you why.  Maxine and her life story are evidence of a larger truth.  As I talk about her life and her illness, I am inviting people to look at the reality of mental illness. She spent years of her life suffering.  And because she had no insight into what was going on, it is almost incumbent on those of us who loved her to understand what mental illness is.  It has taken me a long time to ‘get it’.  For someone who worked in the field with the mentally ill, that is an incredible thing to realize.  Even when I worked with people who lived in similar conditions to what Maxine lived with, I only partially understood.  It took time for me to heal.  I had to take myself out of the equation and to realize that my suffering was only part of the story.  I had to work through the anger and come to acceptance.   

So, in imagining how a conversation with my Mom would go about this blog, I recognize that she might not appreciate my efforts.   Do I have guilt about that?  Not a whole lot.  Because I recognize how much love is involved.  I have loved Maxine my whole life.  Even when I thought I hated her.  She is so much a part of me that the anger meant that I hated myself. And at my age, I know that recovery means embracing all of me. And all of my dysfunctional family.  The good and the bad parts.  And the healthy and not so healthy parts. I truly feel that this exploration has given Maxine back to me.  I can remember her beauty and there is no ‘but’ attached to it.

Mom, I really do love you.  Your life has so strongly influenced mine.  I recognize the gifts you have given me.  I can honestly say that I miss you.  Very much.  Even if you don’t understand why I am talking about this…please understand that my love for you is at the core.  Thank you, Maxine.  For my life.