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| Kure Beach, North Carolina |
by Stephie Bigheart
I escaped.
Leaving my mother's was like flying out of the fiery pit. And, I headed to the deep watery sea.
Living at my mother's, I've been gasping for breath. Breathing fresh air, aka oxygen, is a precious commodity, at my Mom's — one in which I know everyone needs. So, I made one of the hardest decisions, if not THE hardest decision.
Mom was lying on her sofa, adrift in sleep, even though it was already late morning. I started to walk out without an official goodbye, or without an embrace, but I stopped, turned, and walked over to her, touched her forehead, caressed her hair, and said, "Mommy, I am leaving."
She looked up out of her loose sleep she's been dealing with, as of late, and her eyes looked so lost and searching, and she asked, "Why?"
"Mommy, I have to go to my doctor's appointment, in North Carolina," I replied, softly.
She registered this way back, deep in her heart and soul, and her face relaxed into a soft, compassionate nod, an understanding only a mother knows about her daughter's needs, over her own, almost like she's come to terms with both of our choices we've been battling our hearts and minds and grieving over, the past few decades.
I need a clean place to breathe. That was the final, and only, reason, in leaving my mom, this time.
We had tried to get approved for several apartments in Huntington, and we had gotten approved for one we were going to move into with our mom and help her from Huntington, but we all couldn't agree on this decision. Then, we got turned down at the last apartment, close to our mom's, where Kim and I were going to share together, so we'd be able to help her more 'round the clock.
But, instead of waiting it out at the hotel there in Huntington, we decided to come where the person we've rented from before has given us another chance. He rented us an apartment in the same hour we met up with him. They've also been godsends.
We really want to bring mom here, where she can be near us and we can help her 24/7.
I don't know if Mom's resigned to staying there in her apartment, but we've asked her, and begged her, to come here with us. And she wouldn't have to give up her apartment, right away, but we've promised her we would take care of her, here, if she'd come with us.
We all can't live in her small one bedroom apartment, especially with the cats. And all my team of doctors are well aware of my condition here: They specialize in handling cases like mine. They do more studies about my physical heart and lungs. They are more equipped to take care of me.
On the trip here, we didn't know for sure if our former landlord would rent us another apartment, but after we made it to the Raleigh / Durham area, and had gone to the hotel where I had reserved an extended stay type of room, for 60-90 days or more, I decided to just come on to the ocean, here, and take a chance.
An encounter, with the night manager, at the hotel, where I had the room reserved, helped bring clarity to this decision.
Kim and I walked into the lobby of the hotel. We didn't see anyone at the front desk, at first, but we stood there a few seconds, and out of the right side of my sight a movement began. A slow moving, shifting lady began her way from behind the counter where she had been sitting, and slowly moved towards the front desk. Meeting this woman was as if we had witnessed a resurrection of a behemoth mammal from the prehistoric age, sort of resembling the depiction of The Loch Ness Monster. She moved slowly, steadily, but surely. I wondered how much more of her would be coming around the corner, because of her massive, heavy size.
Seeing her struck me to my heart, and it brought to mind Eckhart Tolle's theory of pain bodies. This woman, in a sense, reflected and mirrored my massive, heavy heart, my pain body.
I don't know if seeing her made me run away, but when my sister and I went to add some additional funds onto a credit card, so that we wouldn't be charged a fee for paying in cash, on top of the hotel charges, we had a moment to breathe and think.
I told Kim I felt that it was a divine encounter meeting this woman, and that I had felt her massive weight and struggles and pain.
Kim promptly responded back to me, "Don't carry her weight. Don't take it on, Stephie! Stop carrying the weight of everyone. Stop carrying the weight of the world."
Kim's truth took me by surprise, but her truth hit my soul and heart through, like a dart hitting the bull's eye.
I got it.
We went back to the hotel, but because the room was not the room we had reserved over the phone, and because there was no other room available, she allowed us to cancel it without a problem.
The next morning, after a good night's rest at another hotel (where we paid for only one night) we saw clearly what we need to do: Get somewhere, besides a hotel, where at any point we could walk out, and get somewhere we can get stable, and breathe.
We three have tried to live and survive as The Three Headed Dragon, but it has been killing us.
I am not abandoning my mother. I am not bailing out of my responsibilities towards my mother. I am not jumping ship. I love my mother. I love her so much. But, I can no longer be the tug boat of this great ship, trying to bring it to shore. I need everyone to know my limits: physical, spiritual, emotional, and psychological, not to mention financial.
I am completely spent. I am at my wit's end.
Mom has choices. She's made choices in her interest.
And I have to do the same. I am making better choices for myself.
Mom gave me my first breath. And I give myself breath.
Yes. I choose life.
