A Bleeding Heart

For a moment she was all that mattered. Small face, framed in my hands. Soft beautiful eyes holding my gaze. Pleading with me. Why couldn’t I keep her with me? 

I saw pure love in her eyes. And also great loss. She didn’t want to leave Mommy. But I had to send her away. I couldn’t go on like this. I had finally come to admit that I couldn’t care for her anymore. Not right now. Maybe not ever. I brushed the thought away like a pesky fly. 

I couldn’t think about the future. I had to keep my sights on the present. I turned my attention back to my daughter, strapped snuggly in her car seat. Her lip quivered and she spoke the words that broke my heart. “Do I have to go?” 

“Yes, Emma” I quietly responded. 

Then I took one of her hands, opened her palm out flat, and placed a gentle kiss in the center. As I curled her fingers over her palm, I whispered “Keep this with you.” I did the same with the other hand. A small smile appeared on her face like the sliver of an unfolding sunrise. I kept telling myself that I would be okay. 

I embraced her one last time and then climbed from the van. As they pulled away, I could see tears running down her face. The desperate look on her face cried out Mommy, why? I knew why. She did also. But she didn’t understand. 

Regret immediately came upon me like a chokehold. What was I thinking? How could I send my only daughter away? My life, my treasure of all treasures. I couldn’t watch as they drove down the end of the street. 

Emma leaned her head back on her headrest. She closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping. Maybe then her Granny wouldn’t talk to her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Only her mama. But she didn’t just want to talk to her. She wanted to be with her. Always. Why did she have to leave? Hadn’t she done everything and more to prove to her mama that she could stay? She hadn’t complained one bit. She washed their clothes and figured out their meals. She tried to stay out of her mama’s way, especially when she had her episodes. What more could she have done? 

But Emma knew her mama needed something or someone that her daughter couldn’t be. Still, it wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t things go back to normal? Back to the way things were before Dad…. She let the thought trail off like a lost duckling. No use thinking of him. She steered her thoughts to her Granny and Pop Pop. At least she was with them. It would have been horrible to have to go to Uncle Dale’s house. Yes, thankfully she was with Granny and Pop Pop. They would buy her new dresses and let her eat ice cream, even late at night. She’d be on her best behavior and she’d get what she wanted. Or maybe she should be a bad girl. Bad enough for them to bring her back to mama. She yawned. She’d figure it out. For now, she decided to sleep. She’d try to forget that the van was taking her far, far away from the person she loved most in the world.   

I turned and shuffled back into the house. As I collapsed on the couch my tears flowed steadily like rain on a windowpane. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She should be with me. But she can’t be right now. I knew better than anyone that she had to go. I had to heal first. I had to find level ground and a restored mind. It just wasn’t fair for a six-year-old girl to have to take care of a broken, irresponsible mama. That was what I was. Broken and irresponsible. But was I beyond repair? 

This was the first step and I knew it. The first step toward healing. She had to be cared for so I could care for myself. Then, Lord willing, I could care for her again. In the meantime, I would have to grit my teeth and choose to trust that she would be okay. We would eventually be okay. 

A phone call barged into my thoughts. I retrieved my phone from my purse and saw it was my counselor. Taking a deep breath in and wiping my tears away, I answered. I knew he’d still be able to tell I was crying. I reminded myself he’s seen worse. “Are you ready?” came the question I had dreaded all week. Ready to start over? Ready to be separated from my one true lifeline? Ready to begin an excruciatingly difficult journey? I wasn’t sure. When I hesitated, he said, “You can do this.” “I’m just not sure,” I said. “That’s okay. We’ll be doing this together. One baby step at a time.” 

I exhaled as I listened to the sound of his calm, reassuring voice. I told myself I could do this. It was now or never. My baby was gone but not my will to fight this disease. I would muster up all my strength and prove to my little girl that our separation was not in vain. We could be reunited sooner if I kicked this thing quickly, right? One thing at a time, I told myself. 

My counselor interrupted my thoughts, “Will you be able to drive yourself down to the office this afternoon? Or would you like me to contact your sister to pick you up?” I thought for a moment. I really wanted to do this myself. It was already humiliating that I had to send Emma away with my parents. Why should my little sister have to take care of me? But I knew as basic as it was, I wasn’t in any frame of mind to drive. “My sister” I mumbled. “Okay, no problem,” came the reply. “She should be there at 1 o’clock. Until then try to rest or get some fresh air. You’ve been through a lot this morning saying goodbye to Emma.” I couldn’t speak as the tears resurfaced. How could he understand what it was like to part with a child? Even if only temporarily? 

After I hung up I tried to relax but all I could do was pace. Check my phone. Why? Who did I want to call me? My sister would be here in an hour and I needed to be ready. I walked listlessly to the bedroom and stared into my closet. I willed my mind to the task of packing my suitcase. Such a simple objective: put. clothes. into. bag. Why couldn’t I do it? Another humiliation awaited me I knew, asking for help to pack a simple bag. I reminded myself that my sister would do all she needed to see me healthy again. Even pack my clothes for me. 

I swallowed my pride, grabbed my phone again, and sent her a text: Thanks for picking me up. I need help packing. Her response was immediate: No prob. Love ya. As I stared at that four-letter word nothing felt further from the truth. Could I believe she loved me? That anyone loved me? I certainly didn’t love myself. But I had to learn how. If I was going to take care of myself and my daughter. 

Emma. The image of her face flashed in my memory. She is why I’m doing this. She is why I’m getting help. Even as my heart filled with love for my girl, I could feel the self-hate vying for space in my mind, pushing back my love like a wall of summertime rain. I dropped my phone down on the bed and walked into my bathroom. My eyes landed on the razor by the sink and I breathed out all the willpower I had left. Just one more time. It’s been a rough morning. I’ll make sure that I don’t do it later, I promised myself. And with each cut, I felt my love seep out. Or was it hate?