Marilea C. Rabasa - Stepping Stones: A Memoir of Addiction, Loss, and Transformation

STEPPING STONES

Copyright 2020 Marilea Rabasa

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-898-9

ISBN: 978-1-63152-899-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020901459

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All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

To write this work of nonfiction, I have relied on my memory of the many places I have lived and all the accompanying details and perceptions that are uniquely mine. I have done my best to be honest, true, and faithful to the retelling of my life as it has unfolded. The names of many individuals in this book have been changed in order to protect their privacy. Other family members were consulted to preserve authenticity and add clarity.

Ive altered the names of some places and other distinguishing features. My personal journals as well as my mothers diaries and travel journals have added some valuable perspectives to much of my life story.

Dear Cate and Ems,

Open the door to your imagination as you observe the world around you!

Did you see the Olympic Mountains today from your living room window?

In the morning as the sun rises in the east, slowly shining on those mountains to the west,

They might look like ice cream cones with chocolate sauce dripping down.

Pay close attention to whats happening in your world.

If good things are happening, embrace them and be grateful.

If bad things are happening, try to make them better.

Believe in all the possibilities of all the tomorrows, that better days will come.

Never lose your capacity for wonder, and when you feel inspired, write down your thoughts.

They light the pathway to who you once were, who you are now, who you will be.

Like breadcrumbs in the dark, they offer clues to the Whys? of things.

Celebrate yourselves and the world around you!

That, my dear ones, is what matters the most to me.

For I love you to the moon and back.

Bela

There is a cry deeper than all sound
whose serrated edges cut the heart
as we break open to the place inside
which is unbreakable and whole,
while learning to sing.

From The Unbroken by Rashani Ra

September 2009

Marilea, dont go home yet. Ive barely seen you. Mother wore a wide smile, trying to conceal her neediness, as she gripped my hand.

Mama, let go let go let go

Refusing to release my hand, she pressed on, Do you really believe it, that theres life after death?

Oh, Mother, of course there is! I lectured, straightening my spine. What would Grammy think if she knew all those years of going to church had come to this? I laughed, trying to make light of her fears.

Catching myself, I softened my tone. Growing old and knowing that each day could be your last must be the loneliest place in the world. I felt sympathetic toward the woman who had done her best for her family. Pay attention and take notes, Marilea. Youll be on that bed someday, I thought, glancing at my reflection in her mirror.

Laughing with me nowshe had the most dazzling smileshe relaxed her grip on my hand as I turned to leave the nursing home.

I was tired and had no desire in that naked moment to continue talking about life after death. My mother, more than anything, was afraid. Just as I had learned in recent years to let go of the things I couldnt control, I wished for her that she would be able to let go of her grip on life and die peacefully.

Sorry, Ive got to run now, I said as I scanned the room for my purse, but Ill come to say goodbye before going back to Virginia. Eat your dinner tonight. Its sole, your favorite, I instructed, warmly embracing her on the bed. As I hurried into the hall, anxious to get behind the wheel of my car, I called out over my shoulder, I love you!

Bye, baby. I love you too!

I didnt dare to linger, didnt dare to crush her frail body with all the forgiveness and love a daughter could feel. I had done my best to make peace with her years before, and we simply enjoyed each other at this point in our lives. But how I wished I could make her passing easier.

Perhaps I already had; perhaps our discussions helped her harness her faith, the faith she had found at St. Anns on Long Island nearly a century before.

Mother was ninety-nine years old with terminal lung cancer, a particularly harsh sentence for a person who had only smoked an occasional cigarette. As the mass continued to grow in her lung, she often struggled to breathe. Hospice had recently been brought in, and the staff was authorized to put some crushed morphine under her tongue when she panicked and called for assistance. It worked well to calm and relax her. Usually she fell asleep.

Would this be the last ten-hour car trip up to Massachusetts Id make to see her? This was the ever-present question in my mind. Every year since 1991 when Id returned from overseas with my children, I made annual summer visits to see her and the rest of my family. After retiring, a year before she died, I was able to visit her much more frequently, and Im grateful for that.

At the nursing home the next day, my mother was sitting up in her chair waiting for me with another Rosamunde Pilcher book on her lap.

You really enjoy this author, dont you? I kissed her, taking the book out of her lap to look at.

Oh yes, I love reading about families, she said, as if there were a great distance between us. Do you still have my copy of The Shell Seekers?

Yes. Do you want it back? I loved the movie with Angela Lansbury, though the ending was different from the book.

Yes, I saw it too. But movies usually have happy endings. She seemed distracted.

I know what youre thinking about, but I need to change the subject. Wed hashed to death the subject of our family many times over the years, and there seemed no point in revisiting the topic just then. Ive accepted the way things were, and for the most part so have you, Mama. There are some things you just have to let go. I hoped she could be grateful for the many blessings in her long lifethat she would be able to pass on peacefully with a full heart.

Perhaps the emotion of the moment brought it on, but she started struggling for air, and I went to get the nurse. It was time for some crushed morphine.

I held her hand as she started to relax. Certain that she was asleep, I took my leave for the day. That facility was top-of-the-line, and I was so glad my sister had done all the legwork to secure a place for our mother there. Lucy was determined to see that Mother lived comfortably, and I so appreciate all she did for her. If it was the end of the road for her, then she was in a lovely place.

The next day she was noticeably incoherent, having had two morphine doses by late afternoon. I just sat on her bed for an hour and held her hand as she dozed.