It has been 2 years and 26 days since Mom broke her wrist, and altered our entire lifestyle. Two years without a break, of having to do depend changes three to four times each day. Two years plus of doing laundry every day, if not sometimes twice and even three times, just to keep fresh bed pads and towels handy, not to mention nightshirts.
And yeah, it has built up a lot of resentment, that just, well seems wrong. Yet you can’t really stop feeling that way, no matter how hard you try.
Your life is not your own anymore. No more going out for four hours or five, because you can’t leave her alone that long. Oh, she might be okay, but then again, she might not. Breaking her wrist was when I was there, so naturally the mind conjures up a whole myriad of what could go wrong, without me being there.
Slowly you are worn down, as you go day after day, after day, doing the same routine. You get up, prepare the breakfast, try to grab a cup of coffee before you are needed, though many times you can’t even get that.
You are forced to juggle the time you have, between trying to make a living, to caring for a 94 year old who won’t ask for things, so you become a mind reader, and a spouse who wants to spend time with you, wants to go out and just not worry about rushing home.
And the resentment builds up.
It is wrong, it feels wrong and yet you can’t shut your mind off. The talk from your other half, about when she is gone, gnaws at you. Part of you agrees, joins in even, then the guilt sets in. It isn’t right to think that way, and yet you have to wonder, what is so enjoyable about being 94, being dependent on a 56 year old son to take care of your basic needs? She knows how hard it is, or does she?
See, you wonder about that too, because there are more and more blank stares, that you just can’t penetrate.
There are the sounds, that she isn’t aware she’s making, that make it nearly impossible to concentrate, because they grate on one’s nerves, intrude on whatever concentration you have. You make mistakes, or tasks that should take a few minutes, wind up taking hours, if not days to complete. All because she makes noises, or sits there with a blank look, a far off stare, that you sense, long before you turn your head to see.
And the resentment builds up
Even simple things like flushing the toilet at night, when she’s gone to sleep is no longer automatic. You don’t flush it after midnight, because she’ll buzz, wondering if something is wrong, as she’s hearing a lot of running water. So now you wake up, to a bathroom filled with the stench of urine, all because she imagines the worse, for something as simple as flushing a toilet.
You run to get videos to watch, yet when you put them on, half the time, if not more, she is staring off into space, not even watching. Other times she’s nodding off, almost as if she is sleeping, and yet she insists that she is watching them. How? Her eyes are shut, but you don’t argue.
That is the last thing you can do, is to argue. Even simply talking is a chore, because half the time she doesn’t hear what you are saying, the other half of the time she isn’t comprehending what you say, or is lost in some other thought. Then you are chastised for talking too loud, yet she stares at you, uncomprehending what you were saying. You can’t win, but you can’t say anything either. There is no outlet, no release valve to open, because no one wants to hear your whines, your complaints.
And the resentment builds up
At night you are exhausted, but rarely sleep more than a few hours without waking, questioning yourself, all because you feel this horrible sense of guilt. You had bad thoughts, you felt anger towards her for interrupting you, for needing you but not. You are torn, between the love of her, and the love for your spouse, like you are the big flag tied around a piece of rope, with one of them on either side, pulling, and pulling.
You aren’t stupid, you know that stress is a killer, but you worry and gnaw at all that goes on, anyhow. It isn’t easy to ignore, to switch it off, though you try, and try and yes, try more. Sometimes you get a glimmer of success, but all too often you are too tired to keep on fighting, to keep on holding onto your own sanity.
Your life has stopped being your own. You are bound by her last time here, and deep in your mind you hope it isn’t for much longer. And yet, in that same recess of your mind, you wish it would last for much much longer. You don’t want her to die, but you do. It is an age old conflict.
Is she happy? By looking at her face, at how she looks from how you remember her, you doubt if she is, and then suddenly she will smile, laugh at something inconsequential, and there is the old her. You sit and watch, as she sits there reading a book, knowing it is the same page she’s been reading for hours, and yet, she does manage to flip through, to muddle on.
Your anger, your annoyance, flares for a second, as the whimpering intrudes, then dies down as the guilt races forward, replacing the anger, the resentment. It is a minute by minute fluctuation of emotions, all carrying on long past when you close your own eyes. You know that tomorrow will be the same, as will the day after, and the one after that. It is a routine, and still, you dream that maybe today it will be different.
The resentment builds, but the guilt quickly overcomes that. You wonder how you will feel, when the routine is no more, when she has left you, alone with all those memories. Will the good ones be enough to suppress the bad ones? Will the memories be of how she shakes while you try to change the depends, or will they be of the time you went for a picnic in the park, or went with her canvassing for a charity?
What will your thoughts be, as you recall the feelings you have now, the turmoil of the routine, of the burden of being the primary caregiver?
And even as you ponder that, you wonder too, how much longer can you hold out?
and the guilt is always there, always ready to lay its trip on your tired mind, on your weary soul.
But what else can you do, but keep trudging on.
This mornings substitute was Lily.