I started my discussion of my mother’s mental illness, when
I got to the place in my story when I recalled the events of the last few days
of her life on this earth. When the
doctor called to tell me that Mama was dying he said, “She’s rational right
now, but it won’t stay that way.” I
determined to get to Abilene as quickly as possible. I heard from the doctor on Friday night, and
by Sunday afternoon I was on an airplane.
During the three weeks that followed, she and I spent a lot
of time together – just the two of us.
We had the kinds of conversation that I would like to have had many
years prior to that. We talked about her
early life. She was anxious to talk
about things that had happened in her
life prior to my birth. She told me about her experiences in Fort Worth where she
atended Brantley-Draughon Business College, her work for what today would be
called a “Savings and Loan” bank. Then there
was the disappointment losing that job during the Depression. She talked about
keeping house for the wealthy Jewish family. Later Melba, her younger sister, told
me that she got fired because she hung a brown sock and a blue sock together on
the clothesline, and one faded onto the other.
I talked to her about the troubles she had gone through, and
explained that I had never understood why she had to go through these
trials. I had spent years in a
frustrated relationship with my mother.
However, the last three weeks were joyful except for the fact that her
body was ravaged with cancer.
As I reflect on her life, I’m convinced that she handled
crises quite well. It was normal living
that she couldn’t handle. There’s no way
to explain the mysteries of the human mind, especially the inner workings of a
mind that’s not functioning the way it ought to. I’m deeply thankful that I had the privilege
of spending quality time with her during those last three weeks of her life.
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