Survival, What My Mother Taught Me

My mother is home after yet another surgery on her failing body. Her lupus and RA are slowly doing away with every part of her. Sometimes she cannot even get out of bed because her joints are so inflammed that it hurts to move. I have seen this since the day I was born. And it has hurt me every time I think of her dying.

Growing up in my family is not easy. Not by a long shot. My mother suffers from lupus and RA. She's only 39 and has had both hips and shoulders replaced by titanium metal joints. To top this off she's a single mother of two children. My sister suffers from a heart murmur that sprung up when she was six and suffered from rhuematic fever and strep throat (which can now kill her if she gets it). We are well below the poverty line, completely relying on SSI (social security for the disabled) as my mother can't hold a steady job (she's tried plenty).

I've grown up wondering if my mother is going to die. It's been a constant thought that lingers just below the surface of my conciousness. When I was younger I barely noticed what was wrong with my family. It just seemed like a normal family. I had aunts and uncles and grandparents who loved me. I had everything I wanted from toys to books to after school dance classes. By the time I hit the double digits I began to see that my life wasn't as great and easy as I thought it would be.

My grandmother died when I was 9, five days before my 10th birthday. My mother was thrown into a deep depression. She still suffers from it. I watched as she spiraled out of control, staying out late and partying. Alcohol became her vice and I began to feel neglected. At the time it was all about her suffering. I resented the fact that she hurt and she wasn't paying attention to my own depression which was getting just as out of hand.

This period of my life taught me one thing. My mother is a survivor. She has always been one and will always be one. Even when she tried to find solace in the bottom of a beer bottle, she was holding on to life. I believe now that my mother has always been depressed. It probably started when she was diagnosed with lupus when she was 19. She used to be a dancer. A good one according to my family. And it was in her blood. All of a sudden she couldn't dance. I can see how her world felt as if she were going to be destroyed. But she pushed on.

After I was born she suffered an extreme flare-up. She gained weight because of increased steriod usage to bring down the inflammation. Her hair began falling out. She was in constant pain. She pushed on.

She was told she had under ten years to live when she was diagnosed. I think the doctors are surprised that she's lived this long. She should have died before she was 30. Now she's nearing 40 and she's still pushing on, determined to live. I've seen her on the brink of destruction but she always manages to reel herself back in. I don't know how but she does it.

Yesterday she told me she was sorry that she told me she felt like the last surgery would be the end of her. She smiled as she said she felt stupid for having believed that she could give up so easily after everything she's been through. I didn't respond for a minute. She stared at me, waiting for me to say something. This is what I said: "I knew you wouldn't. If you've taught me anything in life, it's that you're a survivor."

And as a survivor she's taught the trade. She's taught me how to lift my head up and fight back against life, circumstances, and pain. She's taught me that life is what you make of it. You can give up and let it slip away or you can strive to live it to the last ounce. Even if you are a single mother with lupus, chemical dependencies, and depression as deep as the ocean.