This is a picture of my mother, taken in 1964 at age 41. For all intents and purposes, looking at her family and in retrospect, they were lower middle class to poor. I don't know the dynamics of the family, it was never talked about. I wish I knew how far she went in school, and did she quit to help the family as so many did? I do know this, and only because of the training and experience I have had in the medical field, my mother was not well. When I reflect upon my youth, I see a woman tormented by Bi Polar Disorder (the old Manic Depressive diagnosis), I watched both stages of manic behavior and extreme depressive states. As a child I was confused, actually used the word "hate" on many occasion due to the confusion and conflict in my own mind. She was also plagued with Chrones Disease, a genetic disorder that effects the mucus membranes, like mouth sores, ulcerative colitis, and many, many other immune deficient disorders that are exacerbated by stress.
Undiagnosed, and unmedicated in the fifties and sixties the stress from her Bi Polar disorder drove her to aclohol. She didn't know it, she was medicating herself, trying to stop the noise in her head and the pervasive thoughts, nagging thoughts, of being much less than another. She appeared unhealthy throughout her time, her skin ruddy, her body bloated. At 42 years old she went into the New England Baptist Hospital, in Boston, for a proctoscopic evaluation, she had blood in her stool and sores that wouldn't heal. A benign pollup was found and removed. In those years it was a major surgery requiring opening the abdomen. Now it's done with a pencil sized tube and a camera the size of a dime. Her operation had taken place near a weekend, and on Sunday my dad and I went to see her. We were told that the operation was successful and her recovery would be 7-9 days. She looked at me that day like she was seeing me from a totally different perspective, there was a connection that I had never seen before, like she cared (she had never shown love, hugged, or anything). She said to me, "You take care of yourself." as I walked out the door of her hospital room.
On Monday morning very early the phone rang, I was the only one there. My mother had died, she was 42, a blood clot had moved to her brain or heart, there were no anti-coagulants back then. I had just turned 16, it began a new chapter in my life, and very little insight until years later. If I had only understood what I understand now? So many years of hate and anger holding me down, when it could have been understanding and compassion. I think I shall never forgive myself and my selfishness.
Eloise Mae 1923-1965 Rest in peace mother, you did the best you could with what you were given. Rocky
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