My Father lived and died on the altar of my Mother's illness.
Sixty years spent creating a world that she could live in safely. All the while putting up with her fears, paranoid thoughts, irrational behavior and still caring for her. He loved her or he loved taking care of her. His only stated reason for all those years of care was her role as the mother of his children. That was enough for him to take on this huge task. I marvel at his courage to this day. I wonder how he could have survived and even thrived with a positive attitude all those years in such a chaotic environment.
It is not accurate to say that Mom has no positive qualities. She was and is a prisoner of her personality disorder. She loved and still loves my Father. She told me that he never let her down. It is all so complicated and yet so simple all at the same time. I will never fully understand their relationship. I believe that they experienced times of great happiness...and great upheaval. I know there was physical and psychological abuse directed towards my Father. I know my Mother often called me to talk through an argument that she had had with my Father. I know so much and so little....all at the same time.
As I approach the one year anniversary of my Father's death, I know that I miss him every day. I also know that I am doing the last thing that I promised him I would do ...taking care of my Mother. I know he is cheering me on, in my corner, in my ear saying that I am doing a great job.....doing all that I can to help my Mother...the woman who is the mother of his children.
