I was unintentionally inspired by one my students to scribble up this post. She was hoping for some writing assignments from me and I suggested, as I so often do to students (that reminds me of yet another task I need to complete), that she start a journal. One of these days, I will even pre-purchase little mini-journals for my class. I even gave her the link to my blog so that she could see an example of an online journal. Sadly, I had to give her the caveat not to laugh since I didn’t have a recent entry. And as there were supposed to be weekly entries, not justly monthly so that I can get back on my goal of writing and completing my novel this year, I figured I should give it the ol’ college try once again.
If you’ve read the April 15 entry “The Unsatirical Me,” you essentially know what I’ve been dealing with for the past few months. The good news is that since that health care plan meeting, my father has rapidly improved and returned to the land of lucidity. In addition, I adapted some organizational techniques that have helped me feel like I have some measure of control over things (which as we know is merely a cognitive illusion, but allow me to delude myself). The organizational techniques are lists: a list of the various costs associated with my father’s everyday recovering functions and of those items that I need to apply for various programs, from veterans’ benefits to cemetery plots; and a list of all the different tasks that I’ve accomplished to give me an idea of items that I need to follow up on. Managing my dad’s life has become a bit of a full-time job for me, where I wake up almost every morning asking myself, “What do I have to do for Dad today?” I have become a fulltime caregiver, and as I say to others, it is a role I was born to inhabit.
Why say this? Long story short, my grandmother was a missionary in church, and she always talked about service to others. She kept me well-informed and frankly, grounded. It is due to her guidance that I can sit here and type this today with barely any resentment or malice toward the hand I was dealt. I accept it and embrace it. Recently, my mother-in-law gave me a gem of knowledge: “instead of asking to be removed from a situation, ask for the capacity to handle more.” And more we shall receive.
Inevitably, we as children become caregivers sooner or later. Our parents get older, and as my grandmother said, “We are adults once and children twice.” I’ve faced some of my sooner in having to deal with my mother’s illness as a young child and having to confront a solution as an early adult, regardless of how temporary that solution became. I’ve watched my aunt struggle and ultimately succumb to an illness, and I’ve seen my grandmother, who’s lived to 100 and outlived 7 of her kids, slowly whittle away. But she’s still here.
Now, in my soon-to-be forties, I am confronting a much different issue with my father, watching him decline rather rapidly for a man who’s less than 70. This is with a full-time job, a part-time job, a husband, a house, and a 2-year-old son. And with thoughts of my mother and grandmother never far from my mind, not to mention a sibling, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and nieces to think about, there’s always a lot on my mind. Mind you, these six folks that I mentioned are not really my direct responsibility, but the physical, mental, and financial health of any and all of them directly impacts me. One niece, the one by blood is graduating from high school this year, and as my only niece, she is part of my responsibility. I‘ll admit, I feel like one of those lairds of old, where the head of family held that responsibility for their entire clan. As this branch of Floyd and Cooper, it is a responsibility my husband and I bear, because he is the eldest of his siblings, and because I am the more stable of mine.
I will happily admit that Sunday, I took a day off from being care giver. I was at my grandmother’s house, and had a good time just kind of relaxing and not worrying about what I have to do for Dad, or anyone else, save my son, who was with me. The relaxing part is that my mom takes it upon herself to do almost the entire side entrees and the desserts, asking only that one person provide the main meat and another person a secondary meat. I usually get saddled with the (not-so-great) burden of providing drinks. So essentially, it’s a day of relaxation until cleanup, and since there are usually a number of hands on hand, cleanup doesn’t take long.
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