Lacking Patience
- 4 February 2010 12:15 pm
I think one of the main problems is the wearing down of one’s own patience, for normal things. It sounds wrong to say, but really, I find myself being impatient, at least in my own mind. I try to keep it level, to not show my impatience, but it seems to just get harder with each passing day.
It is strange, because I notice how I am slowing down myself, yet I feel so wronged, so hard done by, when Mom needs to go to the bathroom, or just wants to lay down for a few hours. I keep wishing she’d move faster, or not just sit and stare at me, until I ask what she wants. It grates on my nerves, which it shouldn’t.
Hell, she is 92 and naturally not going to move as fast, and with the arthritis in her hands, can’t really do a lot of things I take for granted, like holding my coffee cup or a fork to eat with. Yet it bugs me, it irritates me, when in the past it wasn’t even a flicker of a thought. Now it seems to consume me, and I wonder, what is going on in my head.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way, this frustrated by it all, and yet I do.
Little things gnaw at me, make me even more irritable than ever. I control it, in front of Mom, but I find I am taking it out on David, on my dog, and myself too. I hate it, and yet it seems to be what it is, these days. I suppose it could be worse, which is maybe what is eating at me.
Am I somehow, looking ahead to when her condition becomes worse, when I am religated to doing more than I am now? Is the concerns of others, who keep pushing for sending her to a home, for a few weeks, merely a prelude to the pressure I’ll be under, when her abilities to function become worse?
There is so much to do in life, that I wonder at times, if I can manage any more. I know, deep down, that I can, but I spend so much time worrying about the ‘what if’s’ that it becomes part of the daily routine, and it shouldn’t. Yet, I don’t know how to turn off the brain, to ignore the worries, the stress. Little things get blown out of proportion, including the dog’s barking, David’s lack of picking up after himself, or cleaning up after himself. Yet before, it didn’t seem to matter much, didn’t seem to grate so harshly on the nerves.
Is this really what the future holds?
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