I hung up the phone and felt the corners of my mouth pull upwards as a single drop fell from my cheek onto the comforter I was sitting on.
This was new for us. Not just the talking on the phone thing, but the whole talking thing in general.
Conversations growing up consisted of me pleading for her to get help as she stumbled down the hallway to seek refuge in her bed.
All I wanted was to be chosen by her. Choose me, not the bottle. I promise I’ll love you better than that bottle can if you give me the chance. Please, mama. Choose me.
The heart grows weary of begging after years of rejection. And soon there was no conversation at all. She had made the same choice countless times and it was never me.
Today marks day 71 of my mother being sober, which is 65 days longer than she has ever been sober in my whole lifetime.
She called me tonight and our conversation consisted of no pleading. Not a single, “If you love me” needed to be uttered. We giggled about school and boys and “OH MY GOSH MOM I found the cutest pair of shoes on sale today!” and all of the things I always imagined we might have been talking about for the last nineteen years if things had been different. And I found myself not wanting to get off the phone because for the first time in my life, I felt more important than the bottle. I felt chosen by her.
I have no idea how long this will last. I have no idea how she is doing it or what made her stop. All I know is that I will never doubt the possibility of redemption ever again. My God is one who brings light even to the darkest places. All glory to Him who is capable of mighty redemption.