Bedside Manner

When I was 23, my mom died. I had two years of abstinence at the time, and I had never experienced any grief like it. The loss of a parent is indescribable. It’s like that feeling of getting on stage as a kid and looking into the audience to find your parents, but they aren’t there. Every moment of every day felt like that. I was constantly looking for my mom’s validation, love, and support, but it wasn’t there.

She died on a Monday. I was at work at my retail job when my manager pulled me aside. She had received the news before I did. When I got home, I called my sponsor immediately. “Don’t worry about going to your meeting tonight” she said gently. “No,” I replied, “I’m scheduled to qualify. My mom would have wanted me to qualify.”

My mom had accompanied me to my first meeting when I was 14. During the break, she looked at me through teary eyes and asked, “Are you going to join?” I shrugged and mumbled, “I guess.” She was one of my best advocates in FA. She came to my very first qualification and beamed with gratitude and pride. I made my first Ninth Step amend to her. My mom watched me grow up in disease and then grow up again in recovery. So on the day of her passing, I could think of no better way to spend my evening than to get up in front of a room of food addicts and share my story.

Our relationship was not always easy, but FA taught me grace through her death. I learned how to be present for her in a way that was not selfish. As her health declined, she stopped answering the phone. Though it hurt to not be able to connect with my mom, I remembered the Serenity Prayer; I couldn’t change her, but I could change myself. I started sending her videos so she could have my company when it was convenient for her. When she stopped cancer treatments, I did not tell her what she should be doing. I just supported her and prayed for her comfort.

When she was in hospice, I noticed lots of people in the kitchen coping with food and alcohol, and I know that would have been me. Had I not been in FA, I would have been eating my way through her passing and distancing myself from the pain and, consequently, distancing myself from her. Instead, I leaned into my program. I packed all my meals for the day, stepped out of her room to take my calls, and then returned to her bedside, so I could give fuller, kinder, healthier support. Though I didn’t want to leave her bedside, I knew that going to meetings and taking quiet time would keep me out of the food and close to my mom. I learned how to take care of her in a way that nurtured her and also supported my recovery.

She passed away 10 years ago and I still miss her, but because of FA, I have peace with who I was at the time of her death. I got to be the kind of daughter I always wanted to be because of my recovery.