It’s Sunday, after all, and it will allow me celebrate my sweet mom, as well. Yay!
In 2002, right after the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, I became dangerously ill with another deadly bout of suicidal depression. I was going to do it. I couldn’t take the pain anymore. Everything in my life fell apart. I quit my job and took to my bed. I gained 17 pounds eating nothing but Ruffles Potato Chips with an entire container of Lays French Onion Dip, followed by Coffee and/or Vanilla Swiss Almond Haagen Dazs by the pint, every night. For a month, I slept 20 hours each day, only getting up at around midnight to binge and sob, watching mindless dating shows. I fell asleep again around 4 a.m., right when WorldNews was starting, or something of that ilk.
Sometimes I fell asleep on the couch after the news began. I woke up again when Mom rose around 7 a.m. I don’t remember saying much. Perhaps she asked me, “How are you today?” I might groan and go back to bed. This went on for a month. My mother left her life and nursed me. While I slept, she re-wired my little home, a tiny, darling, 400-square-foot suite. My 2-bedroom haven in the poor part of town was smartest use of square footage I’ve ever seen, and I miss it. I called it “My Tiny Condo in Hell.”
Remember Grandpa Len, the one who loved me right? He’s her dad. She was the oldest daughter. She knew how to wire stuff, run a farm, and boss kids. She repaired my couch. The support had broken underneath and I was content to leave it sagging. She began a miniature year’s storage, because this strange daughter of hers didn’t have any food! Every day, she bought the only thing I ate. I’m sure she got a salad or healthy soup in me once or twice, but mostly it was garbage in; garbage out. I needed it then.
I quit smoking because I was so isolated I couldn’t even leave the house for cigarettes, two blocks away. My sweet Mormon mother wouldn’t bring those home for me.
After a month, Mom confessed that she had to go back to her life. She’d set me up with a 3-months supply of groceries and sundries. Could I fly that long alone? Yes, Mom, thank you. (Thank you, thank you, thank you, Thank you! I love you.)
And what got my mother through another stint of my unbearable pain and my most determined death wish to date? Her Bishop. She shared his words with me, and I thanked God or Whomever, a Loving Universe, whatever!, for that inspired leader. He shares my mother’s beliefs and practices, and his words brought her real comfort. That wonderful man is a true healer.
Thank God or Whomever for people who lead righteously.