Counting Precious Time

Last summer I needed to find a place to live, but the housing market was overpriced and moving fast. I was terrified I wouldn’t find somewhere before I was forced out.

In the mornings I noticed I counted the days as I distributed Mom’s pills. Monday’s pills in the little cups I use for morning- afternoon-bedtime. Tuesday’s pills. Wednesday’s. Each day passing reminded me that I was on borrowed time in my current house. Soon the whole week was up, then two weeks. Time to refill the pill boxes. Counting precious time by weeks. Time slipping away to find a new home. A reminder every morning.

Today I noticed that now I count the hours of the day by the clocks in the kitchen, hours slipping away each time Mom needs me. I am trying to nap or relax, finally get settled again, and, again, there’s a knock on the door. I get up. Again. I see the clocks in the kitchen as I pass by. I notice the time each time I get up to help.

It’s 2:00. That’s okay. Still a lot of the day left. Now it’s 2:30…. But now it’s already 4:00?! How many times have I been up and down these last couple of hours?! I am trying to rest on one of my few days off. Trying to read. Relax for a few minutes. Knock. Up again to help. And again. And again. The hours fly by as I watch my day of relaxation slip away.

I was calm when I started helping earlier in the day. Now I’m feeling agitated each time. I feel my frustration building. I am angry. I just want to rest! I have this new book that I am really into and want to read more than a page at a time!

I am trying to breath deeply. Trying to find calm in the chaos. I can do this. Deep breaths. Control what I can control.

My mom can’t help it. I’m not angry with her; I am angry with the situation, with the responsibility. I am resentful that life isn’t the way it used to be, when I could make my own plans and live just for me.

Eventually, she is tired too and we both get to relax. It’s the same pattern each day, and I should probably learn to count time differently, rearrange my schedule to relax when she’s ready to too. Or not count the time passing at all and try to see it all as precious moments spent together. There are constantly lessons to learn in this process; that one is the biggest lesson of all. Over time, I am learning.

“When the time is right”… I found the perfect home at just the right time (praise the Lord!!!!). In time I will figure this out too.

And when I haven’t yet, a lady I follow for caregiving advice posted today, “You don’t have to be a perfect caregiver to be a good caregiver”. A perfectly timed message for me.

I Am Sad Tonight

I debated if I should write a post like this – with raw and real feelings. But then I thought, what’s the point of sharing an experience if I don’t truly share the experience? So I have to say that tonight, I am feeling pretty angry and sad about things.

I carry a pretty steady feeling of anger and sadness about my/our situation. I cry significantly less than when things started to change- perhaps for survival or from being in less denial or just being more “used to it”, as cold as that sounds to me. But those feelings are always, always there under the surface. (I know I haven’t said what “it” is, what is going on with my mom. I will, but I’m not there yet.)

There are many levels to these feelings; today it’s about the fact that it’s happening. I know there is no rhyme or reason to these things, but sometimes I look around and see people older than my mom and older than me who haven’t been through what we’re going through and it makes me angry. Really, really angry. It feels so unfair.

Today I was talking to someone who is about 10 years older than me. She was sharing a story about a problem she’d had this morning, and she said, “So I called my parents because who else do you call at 6 AM with a problem like that?” My father died when I was young, so my mom who I care for is my only living parent. Comments like that make me scream deeply on the inside, “I’m out here doing it myself, for her and for me, damn it! I’m all alone!”

She meant no harm with her story, and I’m not upset with her. It just hit me in a certain way. It caused a feeling that I can’t explain… Jealousy? Numbness? A sadness that is pushed down? I don’t know how to describe it. It’s sadness and anger but somehow with an acceptance of, “This is where I am.” I’ve sort of gotten used to this feeling, which I don’t like. That also feels cold and unfeeling to say.

I wasn’t feeling this way all day but got increasingly irritated as the evening went on. I sat with my anger for a bit- the irritation at every little irksome thing, the cursing when I ran into a box, the irritability, and, yes, more cursing, at having one.more.thing I had to do today- and when I let those feelings go a little deeper, I knew that I am actually just so very sad tonight. This feels so hard sometimes because it’s a sadness that I can’t do anything about; it feels like the only way out is through more sadness.

I’ve been trying to write more about that, but it’s making me more sad. So I’m going to sit with my sadness. Feel it. Cry. Hug my favorite blanket. Pray. Rest.

Burnt Toast

I burnt my toast today. To.a.crisp.

That isn’t a huge tragedy, I know. But it was symbolic of how I was feeling about current situations.

I had put my toast in the toaster, and then my mom needed my help as it toasted. I am her caregiver these days, so that’s par for the course. I heard it pop up, and thought, “Shoot. I hope I get to it before it gets cold.”

I didn’t.

Okay. These things happen. Let me toast it a few more seconds to warm it up.

It happened again. She needed me while it was heating up. I forgot about it… until it was smoking and burnt to a crisp.

This felt like the perfect metaphor to how caregiving can feel, at least how it feels to me. Sometimes the needs of the person you’re caring for supersede or interrupt yours or your desires or wants or plans. It’s a tough place to be in.

I am thankful to help my mom. I could choose to do things differently, but this feels right to me. It still comes with a lot of sacrifice and some very mixed up feelings- joy at seeing her happy and comfortable, frustration when I can’t go do what I want, immense stress at the responsibility of making decisions on another’s behalf, perpetual grief even amongst the happy times… the list is endless.

It’s also a lonely journey, which is part of why I want to write about it. All summer I’ve thought this would be a good way to process what I’m going through. I have had this blog for so long. I started it to get me to JUST WRITE- even just 15 minutes a day! I haven’t done that… at all!

But today my toast burned up, and a bit of me felt that way too. I was angry for a moment. Angry at the burnt toast, but really angry at things I feel like I’m missing out on: Trips this summer. Beach days. Just having my time for me… the list is endless.

So I decided to finally write about it today. Maybe it’ll help others; hopefully it’ll help me. Either way, it feels good to write.

All is well now. I made another piece of toast. I calmed down. And I wrote today.