Somewhere over my rainbow
The last day of our trip to the beach, we were sitting on the terrace right off the bedroom and a rainbow appeared in the sky. I was in the midst of my book – Grace and Grit – and I was thinking about acceptance and how simple a concept it is and how difficult a practice it is.
Today, on my second doctor’s appointment with my mom – helping her walk feebly from car to building – watching her shake as if she was a late term Parkinson patient – seeing her wheeze – I just kept reminding myself to be kind and supportive.
After the last round, as we were walking out to the car, she said, “I’m sick of this.” And I said, “Only you can do something about it.”
When we got back to her apartment, she barely made it up the stairs, and almost immediately inside the door had to throw up. She was sweating, shaking, and pale as a ghost.
I asked her if she would entertain detox.
She poured a glass of wine and said she was feeling better.
So now, back in my beautiful house that I had to go back and forth with the therapist on to feel like I deserved to live here, I really feel as if I have moved no closer to acceptance or understanding than I did when I was five years old and watching my father pour liquor down the kitchen sink. A lot of turmoil. A lot of yelling. A lot of anxiety. And yet, nothing changes.
The only thing that has changed is that I don’t get upset anymore, I just lose something of value inside me each time I go through this. I lose the hope that it ever will change.