I usually have a pretty strict “keep it light” policy for Facebook posts, but this weekend was a really hard one with my mother. So, in a haze of sleep deprived delirium, I penned the following in the first hours of Monday morning just after midnight.
It’s 1:30 in the AM and I’m wide awake, but exhausted. Please indulge me as I write a little to try to sort things out. I would post a few passive aggressive indirect shots in the direction of this, but I prefer to just be clear about it all. You guys (well most of you) know me pretty well anyway, so, you know, let’s just keep this between us and the NSA.
Two nights ago, we heard a crash in the back room. Mom had fallen while trying to use the bathroom. She has a urinary tract infection and that’s messing with both her balance and her judgement. Well, the balance might be vertigo too, but that’s a whole different story.
So, either she can’t or won’t ask for help. I’m not really sure which, but the end result is the same; admonishments to be safe aren’t heeded and I’ve decided that it’s better to sit in her room to make sure she doesn’t move without help instead of being awakened in the middle of the night to a loud horrendous crash & eventual trip to the emergency room at o-dark-thirty.
I haven’t seen my side of my bed in two, now three nights. My wife, she is a saint to put up with all of this. My son, he is an angel that seems to know just the right time to give his frustrated old man a hug.
I don’t doubt that we did the right thing when we moved Mom in with us. There was never a question. The doubt hovering in my mind today is wondering just how long we can do the right thing or wondering when does it change to where we are no longer doing the best thing for her?
Trying to be an adult really blows.
People that end up being caregivers to their parents always talk about the wonderful experience and only briefly allude to the difficult nature of the task. The truth of the matter is that it is nearly all horrifying, soul-draining experiences one after the other that push you to your personal breaking point again and again and again. Yes, there are some moments, but it all really becomes a magical experience only after it’s over. Maybe because it’s in hindsight that we see things better than they were or perhaps it’s some sort of coping mechanism to deal with the fact that some really horrible thoughts run through your mind in the midst of it all.
Or maybe it’s just a lie to make others join the club.
The thing that surprised me was the number of supportive comments and just general niceness of everyone. It’s not that I think my friends are all trolls. but I’m just always kind of startled when people say nice things to/about me. I know who and how I am, so it’s just a bit of a surprise whenever someone seems to think well of me; it’s like I wonder what’s wrong with them.