Reality bites worse than an empty bobbin five inches from the end of the last seam to sew on a king size quilt.
The quilt retreat was wonderful, as usual. Although I'm always a little sorrowful that there aren't more women my age quilting. The gals in our group are all at least fifteen years older than me, great fun to be with, tell me all kinds of tales about the pleasantries of female aging and tease me a bunch. I just wish some women in their thirties attended too. I'll post pictures tomorrow.
Coming home is hard because I'm always forced to face the reality that I live a challenging life. When I'm away I can pretend for a little while that I'm just a run-of-the-mill woman that likes to spend her free time with fabric and thread, lulling myself to sleep with the hum of a sewing machine.
When I got home I saw on the green board  a note about an upcoming transition meeting for Sissy. My heart started racing immediately. I thought to take some of my panic tablets but instead just closed my eyes and breathed through it. Like it or not, Sissy will be home eventually. And it will likely be within the next few weeks.
I can't escape the feeling that I'll be returning to hell. I want to think better of her, I want to believe that this time around she'll have gained some ground and will be OK at home. And by "OK" I mean, not raging, not being violent, not wanting to hurt herself, not defying me at every turn, not being mean or hurtful on purpose, not dissociating. I know, I'm shooting for the moon. Pie-in-the-sky ideal that I should desire that my 11 year old daughter be a typical annoying, hormonal, pre-adolescent that guffs at her mother one minute then hugs her and asks for a favor "Please, pretty please with sugar on top? I love you Mommy!" the next.
Nope. All I can see is hell, fire and damnation.
I don't know why it has to be one or the other - a beautiful, peaceful life without my daughter that is filled with grief and sorrow that she is gone or an angry, rage-filled, violent, tempestuous stormy life with her that is filled with grief and sorrow that I can't help her, coupled with anger and fear that I'm being expected to raise her when I know I can't; when I know that it destroys my family for us to even try.
No matter how hard I try to bend and reshape myself, my life and my relationships, it always comes back to this hard, cold truth: I can either have a nice life without her or a miserable life with her and I'm powerless to choose when I get either. Money, Med!caid and the Great State in which I reside dictate my day's contents for me.
All I've got for that is Oh, look! a new quilt magazine just came in the mail. I think I'll make the one on the cover... half-square triangles in batiks, twelve inch finished block, posts and sashes (I think this time I'll do a nine-patch post with triple sashing, that looks so pretty) and ... oh look! there's a coupon in the Sunday paper for 50% off any one item at Jo@nn's. Guess I have to go shopping, right after I finish this coffee...
 it's a dry erase board that is green, not white, thus we call it the "green board"