Many of us who have lost a beloved parent dread the anniversary of their death. For me, one year will be August 16th. But I honestly dread other days just as much, or at least periods of time. From October of '18 until her death at just 64, it was a roller coaster of fear, frustration, anxiety and confusion. Mom was misdiagnosed by the useless doctors and hospitals she kept going to, trying to get help; they obsessed over blood clots in her lungs while completely ignoring that she had a fatty liver that soon became cirrhosis. Because she was sick, Mom lost her home, all her money, and her job. And because of depression, she started drinking, unbeknownst to me, which just completely destroyed her already-damaged liver. We had no idea what was causing her getting worse and worse since the doctors said it was just the blood clots. Each week that I get closer to August 16th, the more angry and devastated I feel. Each week is a one-year anniversary of countless hospital visits, doctor's appointments (that often would be casually cancelled by them), good days and bad days, which, by June, became nothing but bad days. Days that it seemed Mom was recovering in a makeshift bedroom that I made for her in the corner of my living room (and it's still there, almost untouched). But she kept secretly drinking, which finally drove her liver over the edge, practically overnight. Whilst cleaning out her car months after her tragic and preventable death, I came across this receipt on the floor, dated exactly one year ago today.
A bottle of rum, spent with some of the last remaining money she had until Social Security kicked in. I had put her in a nice hotel for a few days so she could relax, and before she checked in, she bought more liquor. If I had known what was really making her ill, I would have put a stop to her drinking immediately, and focused on liver detox, and my beloved mother, my absolute best friend and soulmate, would still be alive today. Even by this point a year ago, I might have been able to save her life. The next bad anniversary will be less than two months from now, when Mom became jaundiced and I found a huge, half-empty bottle of vodka. By then, it was too late. My world ended two months later.
