Manic Mom Day

My mom called me to tell me that she had what my sister called a manic episode a few nights ago. She packed some things in a bag with the full intention of hopping on a bus headed for San Jose. This attempt to flee everything exemplifies life with my mom. She always seemed a breath away from jumping ship in whatever way seemed most convenient. I remember my sisters and I waiting outside her bedroom door listening to her cry herself to sleep; at least one of us wondering if this would be the time she never came out.
I knew from a young age that my mom was broken and I tried my hardest to fix her. I'm still trying. As a child, I bought her bears to add to her collection, but there were never enough to fill the broken places. As an adult, I convinced her to start medication, but the cracks are still there and are getting deeper. Over the years, she has tried to fill the empty spaces with many things: men, alcohol, religon. They have only left her more broken.
I wish I had answers for my mom. I wish I was able to do more than tell her everything will be okay; doubting the words even as they slip through my lips.