Archive for October, 2013

I Cried over Brownies

Dessert

I cried over brownies. More accurately, I cried while eating a brownie and ice cream. I’m not certain why. Possibly my inability or unwillingness to immediately process negative emotions were factors. Most likely, a year of caregiving without adequate support or preparation played a part.

Some of my supporters do a superb job stepping in when I need a break and some give great verbal support from far away, but others provide more excuses than help. I wish I’d taken time to research and reach out before now, but I’ve been so busy taking care of business that I neglected my backup plan for brownie tears.

brownies by mail

Maybe, because I’m weary. I’m tired of other people telling me what I should do differently with or for my mother, telling me how they would do a much better job, how I ought to be more careful with how I speak to health professionals to ensure I don’t intimidate them. I’m exhausted with listening to people who preach to me about their erroneous perceptions of facts related to their versions of truth.

Perhaps I’m simply frustrated. Things have not gone as planned. Assured job security has proved far more tenuous than promised. Rumors and family gossip pursue me. Few understand the magnitude of the sacrifices I have made in order to assure my mother, their mother, our mother, their grandmother’s end of life has a higher quality than the one she had endured during my last “vacation.”

mini brownies

If I had known she needed help, she could have moved in with me. Why didn’t you let her move in with you? Nobody told me she was that sick. Some tell me I was going to … I had planned to.

My teeth clamp down over my tongue to keep me from responding with: If you had visited her once or twice a year or called her even once a month, you might have noticed the deterioration.

yummy

Before our move, my daily phone calls did not transfer the odor of illness and frailty. The telephone has not yet been invented that conveys loneliness and fear.

            Pseudo-home ownership replaced years of renting from property owners who handled home maintenance issues for us. This goes deeper than caregiving and camaraderie. This is a convolution of mother/child issues and a marriage mixed with sibling rivalry and nosy-neighbor syndrome added to years of how-it-was-done-before and why-change-it now.

dessert

What if I cried over my brownie because I am ill-equipped and unqualified to be a caregiver? Does my reluctance make me unworthy to be one? From the moment I knew I would move in with my mother, I embraced the HANC acronym. I preferred to think that if I engaged in the tasks of providing housekeeping services, some fun activities to do with my mother, cooking nutritious meals for her and being a companion to ease her loneliness, my mother’s needs would lessen. Talk about naïve!

My mother’s needs for help with her daily living tasks change frequently. She can be feisty and sassy, but she can be weak and humble, as well.

doughnut

She often tells me, “I’ll never be sixteen again,” to which I reply, “Good, because I wasn’t born when you were sixteen and I don’t want to be born again.”

One thing that has never wavered after our move is her sincere gratitude for our presence. Throughout the day, but especially in the evenings, when I tuck her into bed, she tells me how happy she is to have us living with her.

“I’d be in a nursing home – or dead – if you weren’t here.”

oreos and milk

I know I am doing a necessary service, one no one else would do. I know I am where I need to be at this precise point in time.  Also, I know that, despite any difficulties, there will come a day that I will wish I had just one more day with her, one more hour to attend her needs, one more opportunity to tell her how much I love her. This won’t last forever. Today’s stressors and gossipers will be tomorrow’s history . Still, the job is not easy. It’s not difficult to do, just not easy to reconcile.

Cupcake

Maybe I cried over my brownie because I just miss my friends.

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