My mother lost her fight with cancer on Friday, April 27th. She was fifty-six years old. She battled with cancer for about five years. Her cancer actually went into remission twice, but returned each time. Her cancer, unfortunately, was originally discovered too late. It was not an issue of “if”, but “when” – the cancer would return, according to her doctor. I am grateful that her cancer did not cause her much pain. When her body was found in her apartment, she looked very much at peace. I am grateful that she is in a better place now.

I have many mixed emotions about her passing. You see, my mother has been mentally ill for as long as I have known her. She has also inflicted emotional abuse upon me for as long as I have known her. Unfortunately, that results in a very difficult relationship. I lived with my mother for 28 years – from my birth until my marriage 3 years ago. Living with her caused me a great deal of pain and suffering, which resulted in me having large amounts of unresolved anger and bitterness, and other issues which I still deal with to this day. When I finally got married and moved out, I pretty much never wanted to see her again.

I had actually planned to move out around 5 years ago, but my mother would need a new, less expensive place to live since she didn’t have enough to pay the rent by herself. (We each paid for half of the rent.) I instructed her to start looking for a place for her to live on her own – a place she could afford on her own. I didn’t have much money myself, but I had planned to get roommates at a new apartment. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother had no intention of following my instructions. She did look for apartments, however…

My mother used many resources available through her social worker to find an apartment. She had actually found several options available for her to take advantage of. But for some reason, she refused them all. I discovered this only after my mother’s social worker called me. I found that my mother had very unrealistic expectations for an apartment – she wanted a two bedroom apartment so that she could continue living with me, even though I had no intention of continuing to live with her. I was so angry. My mother was sabotaging my plans to move out, and sabotaging her own chances of obtaining affordable housing. I was so angry at my mother for trying to keep me imprisoned with her…

Speaking to my mother was like speaking to a brick wall, or a recording. So I gave up on convincing my mother to get her own apartment. I did not, however, give up on moving out. I did move out eventually, but only when I got married. Unfortunately, now my mother could not pay the rent of her apartment. I (with my wife’s support) decided to continue to pay half of her rent, under the condition that she seriously searches for an apartment that she can afford. I paid for half of her rent for an entire year. Eventually, my financial situation got worse, and my mother’s halfhearted search continued to be fruitless. (I don’t think she even really searched for anything, just waited for Section 8 to contact her – at my expense.) I was forced to reduce the amount I paid for her rent. My financial situation continued to decline further. I then had to stop paying for my mother’s rent altogether. I no longer had a choice - if I continued to pay my mother’s rent, my debt would soar. When I got married, I was actually debt free, but now… Ugh. It looked like my mother would have to go to a homeless shelter…

Fortunately, one of my mother’s sisters stepped in to help. Since she was financially secure, she would be able to help my mother with the rent, but with one condition… I would have to be the one to bring the money to her, since my mother refused all of my aunt’s previous offers for help. This caused much distress for me – finding out that my mother refused to take my aunt’s help, and that I would have to continue visiting her at her old apartment, which I hated so, so much. I could not simply mail my mother a check because 1: My mother could not maintain a checking account because she owed large sums of money to creditors and they would freeze her bank account. 2: The slum lord refused to accept anything other than cash. Ugh! I was on the verge of madness. In spite of my feelings, I did what was asked of me. But after a very short time (about 5-6 months maybe?), I got fed up with the situation.

My aunt sent me a check for several months’ worth of my mother’s rent, with written instructions me and my wife keep some for ourselves, since we had run up our credit card bill paying for my mother’s rent. (We didn’t actually use the card for the rent, but with the lack of cash, we had to use the card for necessities.) I used a large portion of it to pay down my credit card, and gave the rest to my mother. I was grateful for the financial help, but I couldn’t take the emotional stress. I had to get away from this situation. When I went to see my mother in the filthy ghetto we used to live in, especially in that nasty run-down slum apartment, I was filled with such emotional pain - anger and sorrow. I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t know how. The only way that I knew of to heal was to just stay away from my mother until the pain faded.

I decided to totally stop being the middleman. I told my mother that if she didn’t want to be homeless, she would have to accept my aunt’s help directly. I told my aunt that she would have to deal directly with my mother. My aunt balked at this. She continued to badger me into remaining the middleman, but I absolutely refused. She persisted so much, that I had to just tell her that I wanted nothing more to do with my mother; that I never wanted to see her again. Now, that wasn’t entirely true, but I really needed a year or two away to heal emotionally before seeing her again. I actually explained this to my aunt, but she didn’t seem to care. My feelings meant nothing to her, only hers seemed to matter. But at least she finally stopped badgering me. What happened next shocked me…

My aunt contacted me some time later, perhaps a month or two. She wanted to know about the money she had sent me previously. I told her that I used some of the money to pay down my credit card, and gave the rest to my mother, just like her letter said. She then proceeded to say that I was not supposed to use any of the money for my credit card at all, and that it was all meant for my mother, and demanded that I pay her back the money. I couldn’t believe that my aunt would lie to me like that. I was so disgusted. I now understood my mother’s reasoning for never wanting any money from my aunt. Yes, I could have just refused to pay her back, and use her handwritten letter as a defense if she decided to sue us, but no. My wife and I decided to give her the money as soon as we could - just for our own peace of mind. It took almost two months and much financial difficulty, but we saved up the money and sent it back to her. I still don’t understand why my aunt got so nasty over the money, since in her own words, “Money is not an object.” I wish that I could honestly say such a thing. I even had to stop paying my mother’s phone bill, because money was so tight. (I had always been paying my mother’s phone bill.) Luckily, another of my mother’s sisters decided to help her with that.

Well, some time had passed. I was relieved to actually have some peace. No badgering, uncaring aunt on the phone, and no frustrating trips to the filthy ghetto to give my mother rent money. I actually had a large block of time free of contact with my mother. It was such a relief to totally get away from her. I did speak to her on the phone every few months, but I didn’t really want to, not yet. I did make it a point to tell her to call Section 8 about housing on a regular basis, and to continue to search for some kind of housing that she could afford on her own. I doubt that she followed my advice, as she seemed content living in a slum that she couldn’t afford, receiving a rent handout from her sister. I also arranged (with my wife’s help) dinner with my mother for certain holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas - sometimes in our home, sometimes out. This went on for about two years or so.

One day, I get a call from my mother. She sounded very distraught. Apparently, my aunt will have to stop helping to pay half of the rent because of another family member needing help - an uncle of mine became very ill, and needed financial assistance for medical treatment. My mother was scared, and was begging me to help her with her rent again. My wife and I finally had full time jobs, but we were still trying to get on our feet financially. We were still trying to get out of the financial hole caused by the last time we paid her rent. I totally refused to help my mother. I refused to continue to enable my mother to be a freeloader. I told her that she would have to keep calling Section 8/Public Housing to get assistance, like she should have been doing for the past 15 years. I told her that she needs to take responsibility for herself, and to stop sitting around waiting for things to happen, and to start making things happen herself. My mother’s passive, “wait and see” attitude was always our undoing when I was a child, and was still her undoing today.

A week or two later, she calls again in the same distraught manner, begging me to help her. Again I refused. I asked her about Section 8/Housing, and she insisted that she has been calling them every day, with them telling her not to keep calling. Now, my mother has always lied to me and attempted to manipulate me to get me to do what she wants, and my gut was telling me that this was just more of the same. More lies and more attempts at manipulation. I called her a liar, that she didn’t call Section 8/Housing every day. She swore to God that she did. I asked her if she even believes in God, and she said yes. I proceeded to tell her that she didn’t believe in God, since she was lying to me and lying to God. Her attitude suddenly changed. She no longer sounded distraught. She sounded calm. She apologized for bothering me and thanked me. Then she started coming to church! Needless to say, I was very suspicious of her actions.

My mother started making friends in church. There were those that she sometimes kept in touch with from before, (she would come to church services sometimes in the past) but she actually developed stronger friendships with them. I was grateful for that, since my mother rarely had any friends for as long as I’ve known her. She needed others in her life, not just me. She ended up spending a lot of time with them, which was good for her. Something else good also happened…

My mother actually started following my advice – she called Section 8/Public Housing every day and bugged them. The best news is that it actually paid off – she finally was able to participate in the Section 8 program to get affordable housing. My mother had been trying to get Section 8/Public Housing assistance since I was a baby – a period of time lasting over 30 years. Of course, mental illness and her passive “wait and see” attitude were the primary reasons why we never got Section 8/Public Housing assistance. Because of those issues, we always fell through the cracks of the system. I thought to myself, “It’s about stinking time.” But that is my bitterness talking.

The time finally came to help my mother move from her slum apartment. It was also the last chance I had to take some of my belongings from the apartment as well. (I had left much of my property behind because my wife and I had a very small apartment.) I knew I couldn’t take all of my things anyway. I decided on which of my things to take, and helped my mother move her things to her new apartment. I couldn’t have done it without the help from some friends from church. I was quite sore the next day from the moving, but it was worth it. It was definitely one of my prayers answered – that my mother gets her own apartment – which she could afford on her own.

Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, my mother’s cancer returned. I was very disappointed, because I prayed almost daily for my mother to make a complete recovery. Her condition slowly worsened, but she insisted on still coming to church. Eventually, fluid buildup in her legs and abdominal area made walking difficult. Still, she insisted on coming to church. I firmly believe that in spite of her condition, this was the best time in my mother’s life. She had friends in her life, and she had good times with them. The last day I saw my mother alive was the Sunday of the week she died. I was told that after she returned home from church that day, after struggling up her stairs, she sat down, and said, “I had a great time.”

It’s funny, when I reflect on all the suffering I have been through because of my mother, I still cared about her. I didn’t want to see her, because it hurt so much, but I still wanted her to enjoy her life. Just not with me, at least not until I recovered from the pain she caused me. But that is still an ongoing process. It is unfortunate that my other family members (my aunts) can’t seem to comprehend that, even though they claim that they experienced the same thing with their mother (my grandmother). If that was true, then why would they expect me to endure more emotional agony by continuing to be in my mother’s life? Wouldn’t they understand? Once, over five years ago, my mother said that she was thinking about adopting a child. I was shocked and disgusted. I thought: “You already ruined one child’s life (my life), and now you want to ruin the life of another one?!? How dare you!!” I was outraged! I would do everything in my power to stop her from putting another child through the same hell she put me through, and yet, my family, despite their claims that they lived through the same kind of situation, expected me to just shut up, endure the pain, and be there for my mother, with no compassion for my feelings whatsoever. Obviously, they never cared for me at all; otherwise, I wouldn’t ever have been in my mother’s custody!

I have now come to the realization that my family is just, well – twisted, and always has been. I used to think that I would have been much better off in the custody of other family members, but after these last few years dealing with them, and their cold treatment of me after my mother’s death, (No offer of condolences, just a reminder that my mother’s phone is in my name) that I was sadly mistaken. Yes, I am grateful that one of my aunts paid for my mother’s final expenses, because I was unable to financially, but her behavior was deplorable. She refused to allow me to claim my mother’s ashes, insisting that the funeral home dispose of them, as per her instructions. Because of her disgusting character, I fear for her own child’s emotional well being. I now see that despite the hell I have endured, it could have been much, much worse.

Okay, enough about my toxic family. I have written this to clarify recent events to myself and to get them off my chest, so to speak. I intend to write more about the insanity that has been my life, and eventually write a book detailing everything I have been through. I want to write a book about my life because it is a great way to help with resolution of old emotions that I have yet to deal with, and because I also want to help others in similar situations. I have found almost no books or resources in the U.S. dealing with mental illness in the family. I guess most Americans are frightened or ashamed to admit that there is mental illness in their families, let alone dealing with it in an appropriate manner. I do hope to be proven wrong on this, but we shall see.

I am sometimes asked if I will miss my mother. It pains me to say this, but I don’t miss her, and I don’t think that I will, at least, not for a long, long time. What I do miss, and always will miss, is the hope that someday, after my mother fully recovered from her cancer and mental illness, that we could have had a normal relationship, the way a mother and son should be. But alas, I will have to wait until I am with God in Heaven.

Without God’s help, I could not have survived for this long. Without my wife’s support, I would be flat on my face. Without the advice and help of my friends from church, I would not know where to turn to for help. Without my mother, despite her abuse, I would be as twisted as the rest of my family. Thanks to all for your support.

Mom, may you rest in peace. I am so grateful that you suffer no longer. I will see you again, when the last day comes.

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