My Mother

I wish I was sitting down to tell you about my amazing weekend...the conference, my hilarious new team of ODs, the comforter I stole from room 1629, the exploration of the bed in room 1501 w/ my partner-in-crime Emily, what happened when the lights went out, MIXED TAPES, the room-service lady who went through my suitcase, my amazingly-sassy-ass shoes that rocked the worlds of many, and the meeting of Karon, Tony, & Friends which involved some skeleton pan-Ts, an infomercial, cheerleading uniforms, blowing wads, thick-ish crusted pizzas, 2 doodle dogs, garlic-coated avocodo, revolutionary muskets, the down-low, mini-interrogations, and so much LAUGHTER!!!! Unfortunately, that does not seem to be what I need to write about right now and since this blog is about making me happy, I need to talk about something that is making me overwhelmingly sad and anxious and by the end maybe, just maybe, the medicine ball on my chest will become a much more manageable nerf-ball, ideally a pink one cuz those are cute.

So I woke up this morning feeling so amazing after a long night of sleep thanks to my dear friend, and a friend of many insomniacs everywhere, Ambien. Hell to the ya...I took a whole one somewhere around 9, and I slept until 9. NICE. I rolled over to give Emily a gentle kiss on her sweet-little head and remembered that she was not there. No...I haven't driven her away yet, she just slept at her house last night. I think I must have been dreaming about her. Anyway, this leaves me w/ a small feeling of sadness, but then I hear that the phone is vibrating and I cheer up because I know my lovely girl has left me a message this morning.

I pick it up and my phone informs me that I have one missed call, one voicemail, and one text. The text is Emily, so I decide I will look at that last because I knew it would leave me feeling happy and girly. The missed call was from Aunt Trish. My stomach dropped so hard I cannot even explain the feeling. Why you ask, well because she never calls me unless it is to give me bad news of illness or death. My head is spinning, who is sick, who is hurt...who died?! I summarize this into the following potential outcomes: 1. My papaw has died. 2. My mother has died. or 3. Something is really wrong w/ my brother.

Have I mentioned I am still sitting in my bed? So I braced myself, I decided that I wouldn't cry (oh god...what if it is my mother and she's dead and I can't cry). I listened to the voicemail, her voice is serious, but gives no indication as to who or what it is concerning. I call her back. Aunt Trish says, "Amanda...it's your mom (I knew it)...she's in the hospital (here it comes)...but she's OK (wow...she has survived yet another breakdown, overdose, fall, car accident...you fill in the blank.) So I say, "OK, so what's going on." In short she proceeds to tell me that on Thursday...

OK...TIME OUT

THURSDAY!!!!!!!!!!!! Whatever she is about to tell me beyond this, can we just talk about the fact that this is MONDAY! Why has no one called me to tell me that my mom was in the hospital.

OK, so on Thursday my dad finds my mom sitting up in the bed, her head flopped over to the side, gurgling, stuffing socks into her purse, hallucinating, and non-responsive. I recognize how this imagery may seem humorous, and for that fact is why I am hesitant to type it. But this is my life...has been my life since the age of 11 and I am so tired of being embarrassed...so tired of carrying shame that should be her own.

(Oh..look at that...there are the tears. How totally inconvenient, don't they know I am trying to type.)

So my dad calls 911, she goes to the hospital and is admitted. All Aunt Trish seems to know is that she has pneumonia (again), a severe kidney infection, and is on oxygen. She also tells me that she thinks my "dad is nervous, he has an assortment (of pills) in his pocket and your mother keeps asking him for them." My brother of course is no where to be found. Social services is involved, no one knows who called, and they (my mom's sisters) are meeting at 11 when the social-worker comes to see my mother. My father does not know this. This will be DRAMA.

So now I wait...I wait to find out what my mother is going to do. History tells us that she'll say that she doesn't need help, my father will agree, she'll go home...pop a pill or 20...and I go back to waiting for another phone call from my Aunt Trish. The one where she tells me that my mother has died. I think about this often actually, who will call me. I have decided that it will be Aunt Trish or my cousin Abbey. Time will tell.

So my typing is slowing, and the medicine ball has lifted, so I'm thinking that this particular blog is long enough. As for me, I'm going to take Robert's advice and find an Al Anon meeting and go this week, and I'm going to go eat a FAT BREAKFAST at The Breakfast Klub w/ my best-friend 'Fonda.

Oh, and as far as the Lovely Emily's text...it read, "Hey beautiful girl. How'd you sleep?" I'm totally falling in love with this girl.

Until Next Time-

The Sparkly Queen

The Jones Family