So, the Mother Saga ends.

The last time I wrote about my mother, I left off telling you about how I took some of her stuff and was going to store it at my house.

Her intention was to come back to the Island within a week and move into some guy's house to do some extended house sitting.

Well, she didn't call me when she was supposed to, and when I DID get a hold of her, she hadn't heard from the man who owned the house and wasn't sure when she'd need me to help her move her stuff. It was Friday, and she was suppose to move into the place the next day. But she had "lost" his number, and he hadn't called her. (Oh, and that job she had "lined up" required a six month course to be completed first. Doesn't really sound like it was "lined up" at all.)

Eventually, the allotted two weeks was up that I told her I could hold onto her stuff came up. I talked to my dad first to ask him his opinion on what I should do about the stuff, which I was anxious to get out of Peach's room so I could actually start using it for day time naps and play time. He told me I shouldn't just get rid of it, and that I should figure out a way to either keep it or sort through it to find stuff that might be important.

Anyway, I phoned her on day 13 and actually got a hold of her. We actually ended up having a good conversation. She asked about the kids, and actually opened up quite a bit about herself. Also, she told me that one of the boxes and one of the bags of stuff that I had taken for her actually had stuff in them for me and the kids. Most of it was second hand stuff that she had collected from the women's shelter she was staying at, and some of it was nice stuff that some old grannies had made. A lot of the kids' stuff is actually pretty nice. I'll be able to put some of it to good use, then I'll pass it back on to the charity when we're done with it.

Somehow she convinced me to keep her stuff longer. I told her I could no longer keep it in the house, but I could put it in the crawl space, which is currently dry, but couldn't be guaranteed to stay dry through the end of winter and beginning of spring. When I had first offered to take her stuff, she had insisted I didn't keep it in the crawl space, but at this point had agreed that it was ok to put it down there. She was happy that I'd keep it longer, and I was happy that I didn't have to be a jerk and get rid of it all. She figured it might take as long as three weeks to be able to get it. Then, while she was on the phone, she told me that one box had food in it, and shouldn't be put under the house, and that we could have whatever was in there. At first inspection, it just looked like a couple of packets of noodles and some macaroni and cheese. I picked up the food and just placed it in the kitchen. It was late at night, so I didn't deal with it just then.

The next day, I was doing something or other on the computer, when Armondo asked me in a very serious tone to come look at what he had just found. There, sitting amongst the food, was a small grocery bag with some dried out marijuana and some roaches.

My first reaction was anger. Then I called my father. (For those of you who don't know, my father is a drug and alcohol counsellor, and has been completely clean and sober himself for almost 20 years.) I asked him what I should do and asked him what he would do. He said that he would keep her stuff and then the next time he talked to her, he would just say "I didn't appreciate the pot." and leave it at that. He also assured me that I had every right to be angry, and that it would be acceptable to get rid of her stuff. But he thought I should take her word that she's been clean from the last time she said she was. (Two weeks.)

I thought about it for a bit before making my decision.

It's "just" pot. Here in BC, so many people smoke pot, and it's no big deal. But, it's "no big deal" to people who smoke it. It IS a big deal to me. I choose not to smoke it. I don't hang out with people when they are smoking it. It's basically legal in my province, but it's not 100% legal, therefore, my MOTHER let me bring an illegal substance into my house, INTO MY CHILD'S BEDROOM without informing me. My husband doesn't do any drugs. He made that conscious decision 4 or 5 years ago, and hasn't had a drink or done any drugs since. So, my mother let me bring drugs into the home of a recovering addict. He's a strong man, who wouldn't be tempted by something like this, but what if he wasn't a strong man?

After all these thoughts went through my head, I made the decision that I wanted her stuff out of my house. I didn't want anything to do with it anymore. But at the same time, I didn't want to ask Armondo to move it out of the crawl space and back into the van when he had just moved it into the crawl space less than 24 hours before. But he figured that I wanted it gone, and was more than willing to move it again to get it all out.

I called my mother's cell phone that night to let her know I had found her little stash and that her stuff was on the way out. She didn't answer my call, and now, several weeks later, I still haven't heard from her. I wanted to tell her that I hoped she WOULD clean up, and that I'd be looking forward to her next call, but that I would want her to be clean for a solid year before trying to contact me again.

But I haven't had the chance to say that. But it doesn't matter. It's over. And I'm sad. But relieved. I now have a solid reason to let her go. Before, I couldn't feel right about just cutting her off, but now that I have a real reason, and I'm sort of happy about it. It's weird. And sad.

Like I said "it's over", at least until next time. And then, until a year after that. Maybe.