The doctor shared that the root cause of the fracture is the poor state of mom's overall physical health. She's is bad shape because of certain secret habits she spends a lot of time indulging. She is still denying these habits to us and and to her doctor, and probably, to herself as well. I'm not embarassed about what those habits are, but she is, painfully so, so I won't share them here.
For the last few days, my siblings and I have been talking about how to raise the issue of making a radical lifestyle change with our mom. She is our beloved Mommy, and for most of our lives, she has been the center of our worlds. Each in our different ways, we feel shaken by her secret-keeping, shocked by the depth of her denial and hiding, and terrified for her health.
I hate secrets. I hate that my mother feels compelled to present a perfected version of herself to everyone. I also know that her own mother did (and does) this too, and that it's going to take a concerted effort to keep myself out of perpetuating that soul-corroding bullshit through a third generation.
My mother has sacrificed much to protect the lie that everything is fine, that she is not broken or fucked up. And for what, in the end?
As if any one of us were not broken, as if any one of use did not desperately need healing and redemption.
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