Month: April 2020

I feel like she’s been locked away. Like they used to lock away people in institutions for mental or emotional or physical handicaps. She seems so remote from me, and from everything she should be doing and experiencing right now. There is a depth of anger in me so deep – so deep that I might drown in it. I never knew it was possible to feel anger so deeply within my soul.

The reality is she is NOT locked away. She is where she needs to be for her own health and safety. But reality doesn’t mesh with my feelings about it. The fact is – I cannot take care of her. I was not trained for that. I cannot maintain any semblance of a “normal” relationship with her if I am cleaning her up after an accident or constantly re-directing her actions or helping her eat with a fork. My heart breaks enough just being with her and not being able to hold a conversation.

They call me, they do. At night when she’s so upset that she can’t breathe. I talk her down off the ledge time and time again. I tell her she’s loved – so much – and I tell her everything is alright and then I tell her stories about her granddaughter and the horses and whatever else I can think of that will make her heart smile. I wait on the phone while she takes her medicine she was refusing earlier. I wait until she can breathe again, I tell her I’m drinking wine and that she should be too. She laughs and says “that sounds good!” I make it a point to bring her a few beers the next time I come to see her. I tell the caregivers to be sure to open it and serve it to her over ice – she can’t do it herself.

They call me during the day with video conferencing. I am desperate not to miss these calls. I wish they were more consistent but I understand that they are busy and doing their  best. I’m glad to see her face, if even for just a few moments. I’m glad to hear her voice. She still sounds the same as ever. I have an old voice mail she left for me a few years ago and the entire reason I have not gotten a new phone is that I don’t want to lose that voice mail.

She should be here. Enjoying this beautiful sunny day. Gardening, or cooking something new to try. She should be playing with Baby Girl and laughing and rolling her eyes with me at her sassiness. She should be sitting on the back porch and watching the squirrels and birds and appreciating life. She should be there when I go to see Dad. She isn’t.

Would it have been easier if she had died from cancer or such? From an accident? Something quick? I don’t know if it would have been because that isn’t the way it’s happening. Instead Grief hangs over us all, unrelenting because in a way it hasn’t really started yet. We are all just holding on. Waiting for the inevitable. For a future where we have to learn to live without her entirely. A future where Baby Girl gets married or has babies without her Grandma to witness it. Where she graduates high school or wins a champion ribbon in a horseshow. Maybe joins the swim team. There is no telling what Baby Girl will do – but it is absolute that her Granny won’t be here to bear witness to it.

That is what makes me the most sad of all. I know we can’t go back. Back to swinging in the hammock in the back yard in Tyler, chilling out drinking a beverage and shooting the breeze with Dad while Mom makes my favorite meal. Sitting at her table with her in the evening discussing everything from books we are reading to the mysteries of life. We can’t go back to the every day phone calls and the advice and love she gave me every day. It’s the future that we will miss most of all.

She’s not locked away, this I know. She’s safe, she’s healthy and I’ve got to believe the people there really care about her wellbeing. All the same, she’s “locked away” from my everyday life. And I find that impossible to bear. Sometimes I take my anger out on my husband, sometimes on Baby Girl. I try so hard not to – I know it isn’t fair. My husband understands. Baby Girl doesn’t – so I sigh and try to calm down and reevaluate the situation so that I can be fair with her. I hope someday she’ll understand that it was very difficult to have a Mommy with a constantly broken heart. I hope she’ll forgive me.

And I don’t want you to worry Mom. In all the important ways – I’m holding on tight to you.

Baby Girl is in her element. She doesn’t have to get dressed. She can play all day and eat all day and make a huge mess all day. She can go outside when the weather is nice and ride her pony. She is free to be her very best self. Well, at least her truest self. Which is not always her best self. In fact it very rarely is. The kid knows how to push my buttons and that’s a fact. She’s smart. She thinks she knows everything. She will tell you she does – she will scream it into your face. She will argue every point you try and make.

Occasionally she’ll tell me “you’re right Mommy! You’re right and I was wrong.” Like it is completely inconceivable that this could occur. She is in wondrous rapture when this happens. Meanwhile I’m looking at her like she has two heads and has grown wings.

Baby Girl is spunky. She has spark. She has a ferocious temper. She will, God willing, grow up to be a force to be reckoned with – in a good way I pray. She hears conversations I have with Tony from three rooms away. She remembers everything. She especially remembers if I am having a “day” and get frustrated with her and say something like “I just wanted to have a nice day with you and now look.” She’ll say it back to me if she’s the one that gets frustrated. But unlike ME, she’ll say it over and over while wailing and pounding her fists in her pillow and punishing me as forcefully as she can with her crocodile tears.

And if you think to yourself “what in Hell’s teeth do I do now?” as I often do, you might also think well maybe I should try talking to her. Big mistake. Huge. DON’T DO THIS. It’ll just unleash another wave of fury and sobs. Walk away, just walk away. She’ll come around. Have a drink. Have another. Be patient.

If the kid is anything like me (and we all know that she is) she’s continuously trying to figure out how she feels about things. She’s not about to give in, and she’s not going to give up. And she’s got almost 39 years on me. So I worry. And I’m weary. All these crazy changes lately and these scary things going on have me like “Lord just let it all be over. Let it all go back to normal.” But normal, at least for me, wasn’t that great either. Right now I’m saving time and gas by not being able to drive to visit my parents but that is simply replaced by extra worry because I cannot see them. For people whose parents do not have medical issues this may not be a big deal – for me it is crucifying. My mom can’t even have a decent conversation with me so all I can do is have five minutes with her by video chat whenever I don’t miss that call. I know that every day is one day closer to her not remembering who I am. And I’m missing this crucial time with her. And while I’m super angry and sad about this I am also not willing to risk her health and the health of the others around her. She wouldn’t survive Corona – I know this. The facility is on lockdown and no one except staff and medical personnel are allowed in but this certainly doesn’t guarantee that the virus will not be brought in somehow. And here’s the worst possible thing – if she does get it and is admitted to the hospital I won’t be allowed to see her there either. I can’t even begin to image my mom in a hospital, confused and sick, and I’m not allowed to be by her side. The worry is overwhelming.

And my Dad. My Dad is already in a hospital. Having had three (four?) surgeries in the past week alone. His new doctor is amazing, I know this even though I have never met him, because he saved his leg. It was weeks, maybe days, away from having to be amputated. Bullworker has a bit of a following on Facebook and I am grateful to all of you that have posted words of comfort and support. I know he reads them. I am not allowed to visit him there, and I will not be allowed into the rehab place either. However, I am hoping against hope that I will be able to transfer him from hospital to rehab thus getting to spend some time with him, if even just for as short a time as that. I imagine that the rehab place will take good care of him, but again, the coronavirus is an ever-ominous threat and I am worried. My aunt has taken up residence in his hospital room, after refusing to leave once she brought him in, and thus she is now trapped. If she left for any reason they would not let her back in. I am exceedingly grateful to her. She is a Thomas, after all, and persistence and damn cussedness runs in the family.

So, Baby Girl has the run of the house and the property (and me) because I currently cannot focus on anything else other than the worry surrounding my parents. I want to work, but the rain and cold has stopped me short. Plus the persistent pain in my foot which makes me want to scream with annoyance. Riding and Crossfit – my two go-to’s for ME TIME both make my foot hurt worse.

This is just a season right? This too shall pass. But lately every time something passes, something new and worse takes its place. My dryer went out yesterday. Just because it could. My phone won’t hold a charge anymore. My kid has got my number and I’m too weary to do anything about it. So if you’re having a hard time too I totally feel your pain. I’ll have a drink for you and I’ll pray for you as I have been praying for myself. I know I’m not alone though it sure feels like it when we must be socially distant. I’m pretty good at social distancing but it’s always been of my own volition not the government’s. So that of course just pisses me off. Baby Girl and I don’t like anyone telling us what to do. I would laugh if I wasn’t already crying….

Breathe deep my friends. This too shall pass. The future may not be any brighter but the hope that it will be is what keeps us going.