There was a time when I was tough. I could fire an employee and get thrown out of a bar all in the same day and not blink an eye.
Those days are far behind me, but today I think I could use a little less compassion. I’d like to employ that thicker skin right about now.
Watching my mother fade away is tougher than I could ever have imagined. Tomorrow, I’m sure Hospice will become involved, and I think that is the big decision that has been my burden for over two weeks now. Once that call has been made, I hope that my heart will not be as sore as it is now.
It is so easy to redirect the anger I feel that is borne of fear: Could she possibly stay in this limbo for months? Is this the way I am going to go? Is there something else I could be doing, should be doing, that would help her? But my husband, the superior nursing staff, and my family members are not to blame for any of this, and acting out my anger toward any one of them is wrong. I need to see it for what it is–my pain and fear–and deal with it accordingly.
But man, it’ s hard.
I want to get back to my life. I want to be working. I want to be writing that research paper which is due soon. I want to be feeding the chickens and taking the dog for a romp at the dog park.
Instead, I’m going to the nursing home twice a day to watch her babble and moan, feed her gelled milk and talk to her of the wonders of heaven and meeting up again with Biff, her husband and dancing partner who died long ago. I’m standing in the endless holiday shopping lines to buy her some appropriate clothing. I’m trying to take care of myself, but I’m starting to lose sight of what that means. I know it means to take time of every day to cry and honor the spirit of the woman I tried so hard to get along with for so many years. She didn’t make it easy.
She’s not making it easy today.
And for that I know I will be grateful. Some day, but not today.
Today, life is hard.