I've just had the thought that I have made progress, in roundabout ways.  After my mother was critically ill the first time, in Nov 2004, I developed what seemed to be PTSD symptoms with regards to sirens and flashing lights.  I watched my mother get taken out of the house by ambulance twice and then saw the ambulance, fire trucks, and police cars at their house the day she died and it became nearly unbearable for me to see emergency vehicles.But I was at a Christmas parade by myself this past weekend and forgot that I would be seeing emergency vehicles in the parade.  But instead of letting myself get reminded of those terrifying instances, I was able to consciously realize that this was a happy celebration and that it was probably just a bunch of big boys, and girls, playing with their toys.  And you could tell they were having fun blasting the sirens.  After realizing this, I was ok and even became envious because it looked like fun.I also had a very nice and heart-fulfilling conversation with my godmother when I went to visit her in the hospital the other day.  She had been my mother's best friend since they were 5 years old.  She told me that she, too, had had many conversations with my mother in which she tried to persuade Mom to get some help, but she met up with the same resistance that we did when we tried to get Mom some help.  There was something about hearing this from a third party, one who though I consider her family, never lived with Mom and could thus offer a slightly more objective perspective, that made me realize on a pretty deep level that I shouldn't feel guilty because I couldn't help Mom.  No one could.  She had to help herself and she chose not to.  She like to pull the wool over her eyes with so many things...my being gay and choosing to make no bones about it rather than hiding it and being unhappy.  She didn't accept me for being the human that I am...bipolar lesbian warts and all!  She was so afraid of what other people would think about it...ironically, "other people" were and have been just fine with it and have even praised me for having the courage to live the life that I need instead of the life that others think I need.  Mom was the only one who had a real issue with it and that hurt me a great deal. I'm angry with her for leaving me with that, as well as other things, like the knowledge that she died from an overdose.  I'm also incredibly sad that she herself couldn't find happiness and rather than learn from the examples of others, turned it inward until no one could reach her.But I'm setting down these negative emotions for now in favor of patting myself quietly on the back for these few lessons I have recently learned.