March...

Ah Spring! A time for new beginnings and new life! I love the spring, especially March. Here in the desert, March holds the perfect weather. Its not too hot, not too cold. The wild flowers start to bloom and driving down a once brown and rocky road becomes so simply wonderful. The purples, oranges and yellows are everywhere, lining the highways and the gravel yards in the neighborhoods. I can honestly say that March is possibly the most beautiful month in all of Arizona!

As much as I love March, it marks a very dark time for me. Two years ago, this March, marks the last time I ever saw or spoke to Susan. It marks a very defining time for me.

Growing up with my mom was strange to say the least. My sister, brother, and I were the heads of the household. We were the ones that kept things functioning. My sister worked a full time job at a Bakery to pay the majority of our bills. My brother and his seemingly optimistic attitude was the glue that held us all together and kept us from killing each other. I had babysitting jobs after school and on the weekends so that I could buy my own necessities and help pitch in to the household finances.

In a very strange, and very real way, we raised Susan. Susan was never capable of taking care of herself, and her dependence on us for love, shelter and food was very apparent. She relied on us to survive, for without us, she would not be able to live a somewhat normal life on her own.

This did not change, even when we all grew up and went our own ways. Simply going to college or moving out with roommates, or on our own, was not an option. For every time you turned around, there was Susan, always needing something; a place to live, a car to drive, a meal to eat, a shower to take... We would take turns bringing Susan in, like a bad fruit cake that is passed around and re-gifted every Christmas. She would spend a few months with a roommate, then at my apartment, then in her Van out in a parking lot, then at my sister's, then at my brother's, and so on and so on in a long and vicious cycle.

In January of 2009, it was my turn. Susan was homeless again. Her illness made her incapable of holding a job, or a place to live for that matter. Her 500 dollar disability check did little for her, and any spending money she had went to car insurance and weekly trips to the Dollar Store.

I never wanted her to live with me, and I always promised myself that each time would be the last, yet time after time, I took her in. I felt an enoromous obligation to taking care of her. The guilt was indescribable and unbearable. She was like a 58 year old child that just never left their parent's house. How do you turn your child away? How do you throw them out on the street to fend for themselves when you know they are not ready?

Seeing Susan alone and homeless was heartbreaking, yet maddening and the same time. I hated her so much that I couldn't stand to even hear her voice, but at the same time, loved her so much that I couldn't stand the thought of her not having a bed to lay on at night.

When I brought Susan in the final time, I already knew that it would not last. Past cohabitation had always ended badly. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I would have to kick her out and it would be someone elses' turn to deal with her for as long as they could stand.

I told her, "Mom, you can come stay with us, but you have to promise to see a counselor. You seem very depressed". Of course, this was only my way of trying to force her into some kind of professional's office. If I had told her that she had to see a Psychiatrist then she would have refused outright. I was still clinging to a thread of hope that somehow, I could help her get the help she needed. She agreed to my conditions, but of course, it never happened.

At first things were fine (that's how it always started out) and my husband didn't even seem to mind her presence. He had never seen Susan "in action" and while he had heard stories of her illness, and knew that there was something not right with her, he seemed happy and content with her staying with us. My daughter was ecstatic at the concept of "GrandSue" staying with us. I, on the other hand, was constantly on edge, waiting for the ticking time bomb to explode.

Over the next few weeks, my house seemed to darken with her presence. Her good behavior started to fade and she started acting strange again. I could hear her conversations with the voices through the walls and wouldn't see her for days at a time while she hid out in her bedroom. I remember lying in bed one night and I told my husband, "Just so you know, she is going to accuse you of molesting Kaitlyn. Get ready".

I can honestly say that 80% of Susan's delusions and hallucinations were of a sexual nature. She was OBSESSED with the idea of children being molested and raped. As a child she used to follow me around the house, interrogating me, trying to find out who was molesting me and who was hurting me. As a teenager she did not allow me to leave the house, since the voices told her that I was performing oral sex on all the male neighbors. She was convinced that I was a sex addict, who was hooked on drugs and alcohol, and ran around with all the men in the neighborhood, having sex with every single one of them. I was an "Evil Slut" in her eyes, and she was not afraid to make it known. As far as she was concerned, any man who would associate themselves with an evil and repulsive person such as me, must be either a Rapist or a Pedophile.

She had filed CPS reports before. Once against my ex-husband, and at other times threatened to report my ex-father-in-law and a guy that I dated for a short period. She filed reports against me, claiming that I was aiding in molesting my own daughter. She heard voices tell her that horrible and unspeakable things were happening to my daughter. It made me sick to my stomach.

Things took a turn for the worst when she started following my husband around the house. It was like the only place he could be alone was the bathroom. I was so mad and I would yell at her, "Leave him alone! You have no right to follow him around! He's not hurting anyone!" It didn't seem to phase her delusions, and her belief in his Pedophilia only strengthened with each day that went by.

One day, as my husband read our daughter a book in her room, Susan stood outside the door, staring at him. Staring as if she was trying to kill him with her eyes. I told her, "Mom, he is not molesting Kaitlyn. Leave him alone. He was kind enough to take you into his house and this is how you thank him? How dare you!" She stormed off in a huff to the kitchen, but that didn't stop me from following her. I was trying to plead with her that whatever it was she was seeing or hearing, was not real, As I had done what seems to be a hundred times before.

She shouted, "Well, SOMEONE around here has to protect her!"

That was it, that was the moment. That was the one thing that I needed to hear. That was my "OK" to get her the hell out of my house.

I don't remember much after that. I remember screaming at her. Unloading all the hatred and rage I had for her. My anger took over and it seemed that I had no control over what was happening next.

That's when Kaitlyn walked in. She saw me, she saw "GrandSue", and she began to cry. Susan pointed, "Look at her! Look at what you are doing to her!"

I lost it....

"Look at what YOU are doing to her! Look at what you have done to me! My whole life I have put up with you, you crazy bitch! NO MORE! I am done with you! I hate you! Get the fuck out of my house! I never want to see you again!"

The memory is very vague. I don't remember many details besides that. I remember shoving her out of my front door, almost knocking her over, and slamming the door in her face. I ran into her room and started to throw all her things into garbage bags. I grabbed her clothes, and threw everything outside on the front step.

After I closed the door for the last time I stopped dead in my tracks. Looking back, I think I must have been in shock. It took me a minute to realize that what had just happened was real. Realization of the situation hit me like a Semi-truck and I crumpled into my husbands arms. The pain and relief I felt was overwhelming. I knew that it was over. I knew that I would never see her or hear her again.

And that was it...

23 years of living in a living hell. 23 years of taking care of her. 23 years of guilt and obligation. 23 years of coexisting love and hate. 23 years of living on the brink of my own insanity... all gone and over within 3 minutes. One argument, one last time. The time that enough was enough and I was not strong enough to hold on any longer. The time I was finally ready to let go and realize that my happiness mattered. That I deserved a normal life, a normal family. It all just fell into place. I was finally done with her, finally free of her...

I cannot say that I am proud of the events of that day two years ago. I cannot say that I was the bigger person in the whole thing. I can say one thing. For the first time in my life I made a choice to let go of all hope for her. I realized her fate and accepted it. I knew once and for all that I could never help her, that no one ever could. That holding on to any hope was only fooling myself.

I let go of Susan. The most wonderful, difficult, horrible, blissful, painful, liberating thing I have ever done in my life. There is not a single day that goes by that I don't think of my mom. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think to myself, "Maybe I could try one last time. Maybe I can still save her. Maybe this time will be different".

I still suffer a deep pain for Susan, I think I always will. If only I could have helped her.