As I sit to write this, I can't help but wonder where the last 15 years have gone. At the same time, I can't even remember what my life was like before you. Today is the first birthday of yours where I won't see you. That's what happens when you have divorced parents. I thought I had prepared for today, but I have to admit, it's still extremely hard. And yet, I know that this is just another lesson in letting go. I won't always have you with me on your birthday. In fact in a few years most of your birthdays for the remainder of your life will likely be without me. But this first one gives me a little stab in the heart for sure.
Lately I have seen a lot of posts going around Facebook by adults who have written open letters to their children with messages for them. I haven't agreed with all of them, although have certainly loved a few. I considered writing one to you today myself, but instead I decided to do the opposite. Below are some of the lessons that YOU have taught me in the past 15 years. For as I have said, more times than I can count...I believe I have learned more from you than I likely will ever be able to teach you.
So, these are just a few of the lessons off the top of my head:
* From nearly the moment you arrived, you taught me that motherhood was nothing that I thought it would be. I still say that I was the greatest mother before I had children. I thought I knew everything, when in reality, I knew NOTHING.
* You taught me the meaning of true, unconditional love.
* You showed me how little sleep a person can get and still survive.
* You taught me how much entertainment can come from one cup of flour (and how long it takes to clean up said entertainment).
* You let me know that inside of me is a town that was built by you when you were there. It's boarded up now, and I'm pretty sure I can feel the tumbleweeds sometimes, but it once housed you, and then your brother. That gift of imagination was priceless.
* You taught me how judgmental I once was. You helped me see that we're all doing the best we can with what we have in this world and that one should not judge lest she be judged.
* You helped me find my inner strength. You pushed me to make choices in order to do what was best for you regardless of other's opinions.
* In an emergency room at Midnight with a toddler in nothing but a diaper, running a fever and struggling to breathe, you unleashed the roaring mother bear inside of me.
* You taught me that responding to your every need would NOT, in fact, raise a dependent child, but instead would foster great independence.
* You made it clear that Happy Birthday is not a song that everyone loves.
* I learned that picking clovers is a great way to spend time in right field while playing t-ball...even better than stopping any potential ball that comes your way. Through this lesson, I was shown that my dreams aren't yours and that the baseball gene skipped a generation.
* Through you, I learned that video games aren't evil and that in the hands of a grounded human being, they can be educational, fun, and a stepping stone to learning how to build a gaming computer from scratch.
* I learned that children absolutely will learn what they need to know when they need to know it.
* In an orthopedic office, with a pre-teen with a badly broken arm, you showed me your incredible inner strength. And that you didn't need me to hold your hand anymore.
* You tried valiantly to teach me that turbulence on a plane is nothing to be afraid of. And that sitting next to your mom while she is freaking out on said plane is embarrassing. Sorry about that one...
* You have shown me how to speak one's truth. Your ability to be true to who you are, even in the face of strong opposition is humbling and inspiring.
* You have taught me that there is simply no need for countless toppings on a pizza and that the simple joy of a cheese pizza is lost on most people.
* I have learned that nearly everything people told me about the teen years is just as false as the messages I received before becoming a mom. I LOVE having a strong-willed, passionate, self-assured teenager. Our conversations and debates are some of my favorite times. Your quirky sense of humor makes me laugh every day. I appreciate that we can respect each other's differences and know that it's okay that we don't always agree with each other.
* And nearly every day Jonathan, you teach me that you are not mine forever. That from the day you were born, every day was, and continues to be, one more day of you moving away from me. And that my job has always been to give you a foundation, a safety net, and wings. All the rest is fluff and often smoke and mirrors.
You, my son, are one of the most incredible human beings I know. You are your own person and I love the young man you have become. I get such joy out of watching you continue to grow and evolve. Now that you are 6 feet tall and significantly taller than me, I look up to you both literally and figuratively. I am immensely proud to be your mother. I know this next year comes with driver's ed and yet another path to take you even further away from me. And yes, there is a large part of my heart that breaks as you move further and further down that path. But I also know from all my lessons over the past 15 years, that the reason you can continue to stretch your wings is because your foundation is strong. You know that safety net exists if necessary. And you know that no matter how far you fly away, I will always be here waiting with arms outstretched, to welcome you back to the roost whenever the winds blow you back home for a visit.
But give me just a few more years okay? :)
Happy Birthday my wonderful Jonathan Michael. I love you more every single day. Thank you for teaching me how to be your mom and how to be a better person each and every day. Although today is filled with presents for you, the greatest gift was given to me 15 years ago when you were placed in my arms. It has been a truly blessed decade and a half. Thank you for choosing me to be your mom. :)
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Lessons
As I said when I first started this blog, it would be about several different things, but one of them would be caregiving. I didn't really think about it having a focus on self-care at the time, but that has been a recent theme in my life so it makes sense for it to come out here as well.
As I'm on hour 54 of my recovery from a tooth extraction, I feel the need to explain the emotional process behind this procedure. This is my blog. It is my own personal therapy. So, no need to read on if you don't want to. For some of you, this will be a little much, but I am a firm believer in the mind-body connection.
At the age of 18, I received a root canal on my last molar (my wisdom teeth weren't in yet). I vividly remember that root canal. It was my dentist who performed it and he walked me through it step by step. I've had two root canals since that one and the process seems to be significantly easier than it was 26 years ago. Nonetheless, the procedure itself wasn't all that bad (although it was three appointments). However, I do remember house sitting and being in throbbing pain after one of the appointments. I remember very vividly lying on the couch in tears.
Over the years, that tooth continued to give me problems. About 10 years ago, it had become mostly a silver filling and very little tooth. I always wanted to get that filling replaced with something that wasn't silver and full of mercury.
Seven years ago, I had moved back in with my husband after having been separated a year. This move was against my therapist's recommendation, it was against friend's recommendations, it was even against some family recommendations. Most of all, it was absolute opposite of what my heart wanted. But my head told me I needed to try to save my marriage. Not for me, but for my children. I was in love with someone else. I left him to return to a marriage that no longer existed in an attempt to follow the rules. I was going back because I felt I had broken rules and the rule follower in me was fighting to right that wrong. And I understand now that I was going back, in part, perhaps in large part, because my entire life had been an effort to make my mom proud of me and I knew she was disappointed in me and I needed to fix that problem as well. I will never forget the moment I told her I was going back. She looked at me, smiled and said, "I have been praying for this!". I'll also never forget how I felt in that moment....that I was giving up everything that I wanted, everything that made me feel right...in order to make my mom happy so that she would love me again.
The background story is much deeper, but suffice it to say that my mom's pregnancy with me was a surprise. I always knew that and that's the message I grew up with. I always felt I had to fight for her love. My mom absolutely did the best she could with what she had available to her. She wasn't a bad person. She sacrificed nearly everything she ever wanted for her kids. I learned that from her. Her mom judged her harshly. She often told me that she never wanted a daughter because she didn't feel she could be a good mom to a daughter. Please understand that I don't blame my mother for my choices. They were, and are, my choices. She and I reconciled our differences as she was dying from cancer. But it is important to understand from where I've come over the past 8 years.
The day I walked back in to my old house, my old life, I knew I had made the greatest mistake of my life. I cried for nearly three days straight. Sobbing cries. In following my brain, I destroyed my heart. And within days of moving back in, a huge chunk of that offending tooth fell out. Because I had had a root canal, there was no pain except for the constant sharp edges that shredded up my tongue.
The following year was absolute pure hell. For everyone in that house, especially my children...the ones I thought I was trying to protect by going back. I spent an entire year trying to figure out how to leave again, how to go from being a stay-at-home mom to bringing in some sort of income. Every day was a fight. Every day was a battle. And then, finally, 13 months after I moved in, I was out again and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that in order to survive, I had to move on regardless of the "rules" and regardless of how my mom felt about my choices.
Two years later, my mom was gone. We didn't speak much until she got sick, and then, as I said, we resolved our differences. She spoke to me differently than she had my entire life. At one point, in a hospital waiting room, she said to my boys, with her back turned to me, but within hearing distance, purposefully, "Your mom is a much better mom to you than I ever was to her. You're lucky boys." As I was tucking her in to bed one day, she grabbed my hand, looked up at me and said, "You don't have to do this. I don't deserve it." Taking care of my mom as she was dying was exhausting and heartbreaking and cathartic at the same time. My mom and I expressed our love to each other in ways only she and I could do. When she died I knew that she loved me and she knew I loved her. I still miss my mom. But what I have learned over the past four years is that what I miss more is the fantasy mom that I never got to have.
Now, I know that many of us don't get our fantasy mom. I also know that if I could have reconciled this issue before my mom died, maybe my mom and I could have had a different relationship where I didn't have certain expectations of her that she couldn't meet. Nonetheless, my journey the last four years since she has been gone is to understand the relationship I had with her and the lessons I learned and the false stories I told myself over the course of my life that brought me to where I am today.
So, back to my tooth...more of it has fallen off over the past several years. A year ago, my dentist suggested it go because there simply was no good fix for it anymore. My gums had become so sensitive around it. I had to have a crown put on the tooth in front of it because food got stuck between those two teeth and had damaged the front tooth. I had to have a toothpick with me everywhere I went because so much stuff got stuck in there. My dentist said he thought he could pull it, but that it would likely come apart in pieces and would take about an hour so, because of my dental anxiety, he felt I should be sedated. I had never been sedated before and I hate medication, but I agreed to do it in order to get rid of the tooth. I took the medication as required an hour before the appointment, but it had no effect whatsoever. The staff asked me if I had taken the pill when I got there. My dentist looked at me and said, "Well, that didn't work at all". Ha...I'm convinced my natural anxiety level laughed at that sedative because generally medication hits me hard and fast. So...after gearing myself up that day, I left the office with my tooth still in my mouth and a referral to an oral surgeon.
It took me several weeks to make the appointment with the surgeon. I talked to my therapist about my anxiety surrounding this tooth-pulling. She and I looked up teeth in a mind/body connection book. Here's what we found. The 8 teeth on the lower left are "linked with the realization of a person's emotional sensitivity" and that "a problem with one of these teeth indicates lack of emotional recognition within the family". It then goes on to say that dental problems on the left side are "an indication of unresolved issues with your mother". And I cried...but wait...I resolved my issues, right? I did that when she was sick. But as I delved deeper it became obvious that although I had resolved things WITH my mom, there was still work to be done in my own heart. I began to really work through some issues that were plaguing me. I finally went in and met with the oral surgeon but left that office in tears after the doctor made it clear that it would be ridiculous to pull the tooth and not do an implant. He told me that my dentist was wrong to tell me otherwise (yes...the dentist that referred me to him). I left with a $5000 quote and 4 prescriptions to take PRIOR to surgery. I am allergic to many antibiotics and had no desire to take a prescription "just in case". The rule follower in me told me I had to do what I was told. But I had been learning to follow my heart and my heart said this was the wrong surgeon. I was learning to find my own voice. I knew I deserved to have my own voice. I listened to my heart and I cancelled the appointment to pull my tooth.
Over the following weeks, I taught three childbirth classes. In each class I had a dentist. Each class. I heard the universe's message and asked one of the dentists for his oral surgeon referral. He gave me a name of a surgeon who I had heard of before. It still took me a few weeks, but I finally called. Two weeks ago, I met him for a consultation. He was friendly and made it clear he didn't think I needed an implant. He told me that, yes, the tooth would likely come out in pieces, but that it would be a fairly straightforward procedure. I left with a quote of $250 and no prescriptions. I said I would call to make an appointment. I waited a few days, but my heart was now telling me that I had done my work. It was time.
As I left the surgeon's office with my tooth in a sealed plastic bag 2 days ago, I stared at it. I would post a picture here, but it is disturbing. Everything above the root line is black. That tooth was just seeping mercury into me and, at the same time, draining me of so much. Having that tooth gone is a very, very long journey and it is not simply about a tooth. It is about my voice. It is about my story and how I am changing it. My therapist told me that I likely wouldn't be able to get the tooth pulled until I could have something to fill the space because the universe doesn't like a vacuum. It was one day about 3 weeks ago when I just KNEW. I was going to fill that space with MY voice. And I have been practicing. I have been speaking up when I would otherwise remain quiet. I have been been asking for what I need. I am working on being proud of who I am today, not trying to become someone that I think other people think I should be. I have made ENORMOUS changes in my life in the last week. And now that tooth sits on my night stand. I don't know what I'm going to do with it, but I know some ceremony needs to take place. It is not simply a tooth. It represents freedom to me.
And then one more little lesson in the past couple of days. I do not have to be a martyr. This is a big one for me and one I know needs to be addressed. I don't like pain meds. I have a prescription but haven't felt the need to take the prescription. I was authorized to take 2-3 200mg ibuprofen every 6 hours for the first 2-3 days. I took one 200mg ibuprofen when I got home from the oral surgeon's office and another 4 hours later. That was it. Then last night, I found myself in some decent discomfort. I fought that ibuprofen. Interesting how I choose the "rules" I am okay with following. My internal rules about pain meds are apparently larger than the rules given to me by my oral surgeon. Finally last night, I surrendered. Ahhh...surrender...it is my deepest lesson. I allowed myself the ibuprofen and I have taken two today. I do not have to suffer. I removed a part of my body and a huge emotional block two days ago. There is going to be some discomfort as my body adjusts. And it is okay to not have to suffer. Martyrdom does no one any good.
And so I move forward in healing both my body and my heart. I go forward in changing my story. And I fill the space of my tooth with my own voice. I fill the space with self-care. It is not a fast journey. You don't change a lifetime story in one day. But it is a shift in my path. It is a different road. It is not entirely comfortable yet. But as I continue to walk this path, I see more light than dark. I know it is the right path. Of course, none of us ever know where paths in life will lead, but I'm excited to walk this one for a while.
Good-bye old tooth. Thank you for the 26 years of lessons. I'm ready to go on without you now. :)
As I'm on hour 54 of my recovery from a tooth extraction, I feel the need to explain the emotional process behind this procedure. This is my blog. It is my own personal therapy. So, no need to read on if you don't want to. For some of you, this will be a little much, but I am a firm believer in the mind-body connection.
At the age of 18, I received a root canal on my last molar (my wisdom teeth weren't in yet). I vividly remember that root canal. It was my dentist who performed it and he walked me through it step by step. I've had two root canals since that one and the process seems to be significantly easier than it was 26 years ago. Nonetheless, the procedure itself wasn't all that bad (although it was three appointments). However, I do remember house sitting and being in throbbing pain after one of the appointments. I remember very vividly lying on the couch in tears.
Over the years, that tooth continued to give me problems. About 10 years ago, it had become mostly a silver filling and very little tooth. I always wanted to get that filling replaced with something that wasn't silver and full of mercury.
Seven years ago, I had moved back in with my husband after having been separated a year. This move was against my therapist's recommendation, it was against friend's recommendations, it was even against some family recommendations. Most of all, it was absolute opposite of what my heart wanted. But my head told me I needed to try to save my marriage. Not for me, but for my children. I was in love with someone else. I left him to return to a marriage that no longer existed in an attempt to follow the rules. I was going back because I felt I had broken rules and the rule follower in me was fighting to right that wrong. And I understand now that I was going back, in part, perhaps in large part, because my entire life had been an effort to make my mom proud of me and I knew she was disappointed in me and I needed to fix that problem as well. I will never forget the moment I told her I was going back. She looked at me, smiled and said, "I have been praying for this!". I'll also never forget how I felt in that moment....that I was giving up everything that I wanted, everything that made me feel right...in order to make my mom happy so that she would love me again.
The background story is much deeper, but suffice it to say that my mom's pregnancy with me was a surprise. I always knew that and that's the message I grew up with. I always felt I had to fight for her love. My mom absolutely did the best she could with what she had available to her. She wasn't a bad person. She sacrificed nearly everything she ever wanted for her kids. I learned that from her. Her mom judged her harshly. She often told me that she never wanted a daughter because she didn't feel she could be a good mom to a daughter. Please understand that I don't blame my mother for my choices. They were, and are, my choices. She and I reconciled our differences as she was dying from cancer. But it is important to understand from where I've come over the past 8 years.
The day I walked back in to my old house, my old life, I knew I had made the greatest mistake of my life. I cried for nearly three days straight. Sobbing cries. In following my brain, I destroyed my heart. And within days of moving back in, a huge chunk of that offending tooth fell out. Because I had had a root canal, there was no pain except for the constant sharp edges that shredded up my tongue.
The following year was absolute pure hell. For everyone in that house, especially my children...the ones I thought I was trying to protect by going back. I spent an entire year trying to figure out how to leave again, how to go from being a stay-at-home mom to bringing in some sort of income. Every day was a fight. Every day was a battle. And then, finally, 13 months after I moved in, I was out again and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that in order to survive, I had to move on regardless of the "rules" and regardless of how my mom felt about my choices.
Two years later, my mom was gone. We didn't speak much until she got sick, and then, as I said, we resolved our differences. She spoke to me differently than she had my entire life. At one point, in a hospital waiting room, she said to my boys, with her back turned to me, but within hearing distance, purposefully, "Your mom is a much better mom to you than I ever was to her. You're lucky boys." As I was tucking her in to bed one day, she grabbed my hand, looked up at me and said, "You don't have to do this. I don't deserve it." Taking care of my mom as she was dying was exhausting and heartbreaking and cathartic at the same time. My mom and I expressed our love to each other in ways only she and I could do. When she died I knew that she loved me and she knew I loved her. I still miss my mom. But what I have learned over the past four years is that what I miss more is the fantasy mom that I never got to have.
Now, I know that many of us don't get our fantasy mom. I also know that if I could have reconciled this issue before my mom died, maybe my mom and I could have had a different relationship where I didn't have certain expectations of her that she couldn't meet. Nonetheless, my journey the last four years since she has been gone is to understand the relationship I had with her and the lessons I learned and the false stories I told myself over the course of my life that brought me to where I am today.
So, back to my tooth...more of it has fallen off over the past several years. A year ago, my dentist suggested it go because there simply was no good fix for it anymore. My gums had become so sensitive around it. I had to have a crown put on the tooth in front of it because food got stuck between those two teeth and had damaged the front tooth. I had to have a toothpick with me everywhere I went because so much stuff got stuck in there. My dentist said he thought he could pull it, but that it would likely come apart in pieces and would take about an hour so, because of my dental anxiety, he felt I should be sedated. I had never been sedated before and I hate medication, but I agreed to do it in order to get rid of the tooth. I took the medication as required an hour before the appointment, but it had no effect whatsoever. The staff asked me if I had taken the pill when I got there. My dentist looked at me and said, "Well, that didn't work at all". Ha...I'm convinced my natural anxiety level laughed at that sedative because generally medication hits me hard and fast. So...after gearing myself up that day, I left the office with my tooth still in my mouth and a referral to an oral surgeon.
It took me several weeks to make the appointment with the surgeon. I talked to my therapist about my anxiety surrounding this tooth-pulling. She and I looked up teeth in a mind/body connection book. Here's what we found. The 8 teeth on the lower left are "linked with the realization of a person's emotional sensitivity" and that "a problem with one of these teeth indicates lack of emotional recognition within the family". It then goes on to say that dental problems on the left side are "an indication of unresolved issues with your mother". And I cried...but wait...I resolved my issues, right? I did that when she was sick. But as I delved deeper it became obvious that although I had resolved things WITH my mom, there was still work to be done in my own heart. I began to really work through some issues that were plaguing me. I finally went in and met with the oral surgeon but left that office in tears after the doctor made it clear that it would be ridiculous to pull the tooth and not do an implant. He told me that my dentist was wrong to tell me otherwise (yes...the dentist that referred me to him). I left with a $5000 quote and 4 prescriptions to take PRIOR to surgery. I am allergic to many antibiotics and had no desire to take a prescription "just in case". The rule follower in me told me I had to do what I was told. But I had been learning to follow my heart and my heart said this was the wrong surgeon. I was learning to find my own voice. I knew I deserved to have my own voice. I listened to my heart and I cancelled the appointment to pull my tooth.
Over the following weeks, I taught three childbirth classes. In each class I had a dentist. Each class. I heard the universe's message and asked one of the dentists for his oral surgeon referral. He gave me a name of a surgeon who I had heard of before. It still took me a few weeks, but I finally called. Two weeks ago, I met him for a consultation. He was friendly and made it clear he didn't think I needed an implant. He told me that, yes, the tooth would likely come out in pieces, but that it would be a fairly straightforward procedure. I left with a quote of $250 and no prescriptions. I said I would call to make an appointment. I waited a few days, but my heart was now telling me that I had done my work. It was time.
As I left the surgeon's office with my tooth in a sealed plastic bag 2 days ago, I stared at it. I would post a picture here, but it is disturbing. Everything above the root line is black. That tooth was just seeping mercury into me and, at the same time, draining me of so much. Having that tooth gone is a very, very long journey and it is not simply about a tooth. It is about my voice. It is about my story and how I am changing it. My therapist told me that I likely wouldn't be able to get the tooth pulled until I could have something to fill the space because the universe doesn't like a vacuum. It was one day about 3 weeks ago when I just KNEW. I was going to fill that space with MY voice. And I have been practicing. I have been speaking up when I would otherwise remain quiet. I have been been asking for what I need. I am working on being proud of who I am today, not trying to become someone that I think other people think I should be. I have made ENORMOUS changes in my life in the last week. And now that tooth sits on my night stand. I don't know what I'm going to do with it, but I know some ceremony needs to take place. It is not simply a tooth. It represents freedom to me.
And then one more little lesson in the past couple of days. I do not have to be a martyr. This is a big one for me and one I know needs to be addressed. I don't like pain meds. I have a prescription but haven't felt the need to take the prescription. I was authorized to take 2-3 200mg ibuprofen every 6 hours for the first 2-3 days. I took one 200mg ibuprofen when I got home from the oral surgeon's office and another 4 hours later. That was it. Then last night, I found myself in some decent discomfort. I fought that ibuprofen. Interesting how I choose the "rules" I am okay with following. My internal rules about pain meds are apparently larger than the rules given to me by my oral surgeon. Finally last night, I surrendered. Ahhh...surrender...it is my deepest lesson. I allowed myself the ibuprofen and I have taken two today. I do not have to suffer. I removed a part of my body and a huge emotional block two days ago. There is going to be some discomfort as my body adjusts. And it is okay to not have to suffer. Martyrdom does no one any good.
And so I move forward in healing both my body and my heart. I go forward in changing my story. And I fill the space of my tooth with my own voice. I fill the space with self-care. It is not a fast journey. You don't change a lifetime story in one day. But it is a shift in my path. It is a different road. It is not entirely comfortable yet. But as I continue to walk this path, I see more light than dark. I know it is the right path. Of course, none of us ever know where paths in life will lead, but I'm excited to walk this one for a while.
Good-bye old tooth. Thank you for the 26 years of lessons. I'm ready to go on without you now. :)
Friday, September 13, 2013
Caregiving, Self-Care, And the Care of Others
It's been a long couple of weeks. It's been just over 2 weeks since we put Luna to sleep. In that time, we have received three beautiful sympathy cards from all three of the vet clinics who tried to save Luna. In addition, we received a bouquet of flowers from the vet hospital and a letter from Washington State University's College of Veterinary Medicine informing us that a donation was made in Luna's name by our regular vet's office. This letter came with a link to their Pet Memorial Program where we can add a picture of Luna.
It feels good to know that others out there truly understand what it is like to lose a pet. There are still many days when Luna's absence is so tangible. She definitely left a hole in our family, but to be cared for by so many others and to know that people do understand our loss definitely softens the blow a bit.
And this is the reality of caring for others. I have been doing it for so many years, but it is when I am on the receiving side that I truly understand the impact. I have had so many people tell me, "I couldn't have done this without you.", which of course isn't true as we all step up and do what we need to do when we need to do it. Nonetheless, it is the idea that having a caring hand or heart makes nearby makes difficult times easier. So, it's not that someone "couldn't" have done something without another person, but that the difficult task was made more manageable through the care of others.
The same can be said when it comes to my dad. I do believe he can still manage a lot of things on his own, but when I'm with him, some of the difficult parts of his life become easier. For instance, I could have the assisted living community take him to his doctor appointments, but they don't stay nearby and offer support. I do. I am there to take notes and ask questions and make sure dad is getting the best care possible.
This week I had to have a discussion with the manager at the assisted living community over some concerns I have had recently. It wasn't a fun conversation, but I needed to do it for my dad. For $4100/month I expect exceptional care for my dad. I don't expect for him to sleep on his floor all night yelling for help because he's fallen out of bed. I expect that after four months, and repeated discussions, housekeeping should be able to understand that the sheets go OVER the footrest at the end of the bed instead of tucked in which then frustrates dad and makes him sleep in his chair in the living room. I expect that people shouldn't have to sit alone in the dark in their rooms when there is a power outage because only the hallways have power (what happens in the winter with no heat?). I expect that when I call during a power outage and ask that a message be relayed to my dad, that he will actually get it.
So, although my dad lives in a community with 24-hour care. Ultimately, he relies on me to make sure he is truly cared for well. And I take that responsibility seriously. Last Friday, I stood in the pouring rain next to my car while my dad painstakingly tried to get his legs to do what he wanted and I realized that THIS is my caregiving life now. It doesn't matter if a caregiver is drenched. There aren't enough hands for an umbrella. I can fold up and unfold a walker with the precision I used to have when it came to strollers. I know how to look for the perfect handicap parking spot (they're not all perfect!). I look for fall hazards every where I go. I time my dad's activities around his bathroom needs and medication times of day. And my patience is continuously tested by the heartbreaking stillness and stiffness of Parkinson's.
Caregiving isn't just about taking care of the daily tasks of someone else. Although there are many, many people living out there doing just that. But it's also about the small moments of simply reaching out to another human being and offering a simple gesture of care.
Last night, my oral surgeon called just to check in on me. Not all oral surgeons do that. I'm sure he was home with his family making his nightly calls to check on his patients from that day. It's likely something he does every work day. And sometimes he probably gets a patient on the line who has lots of questions or concerns and he might spend quite a bit of time on the phone. All he did was leave me a voicemail, but that call made me feel cared for. He didn't just pull a tooth out of me and send me on my way, but he took an extra minute out of his day to call and check in. It's that simple stuff that makes a difference.
If we could all just take a moment out of every day to care for another human being, just think of all the difference we could make in the world.
Let me end this with a quick note about self-care, because the older I get, the more I truly understand how important this is as well. Although being cared for is a wonderful thing, there is great growth in self-care as well. Having my tooth pulled yesterday took 7 years of build-up. It should have been pulled years and years ago. But there was so much meaning behind that tooth (that's for another post). I had to work through all of that first. Now that I am on the other side, it is one of the greatest feelings. I am DONE with that tooth. And today, I am home and have a house I could clean and so many other things that I could be doing with a "free" day. But instead, I am going to rest. I am going to give myself this day of self care. A part of my body was removed from me yesterday and my body deserves time to heal. Even though that removed part was toxic, my body still needs time to fill the space that has been left behind and the best way to do that is to simply be still and let positive, refreshed energy fill the space rather than exhausted, overwhelmed energy. And so...today's plan is all about SELF-care.
The past two weeks I have provided care, I have been cared for and I have practiced self-care. And somehow the world seems just a little more peaceful because of it all. Take some time this weekend to offer some care to others and to yourself and perhaps to receive some care from others as well. In a world where there seems to always be the threat of yet another conflict, it is in these little moments of care that all the difference can be made.
It feels good to know that others out there truly understand what it is like to lose a pet. There are still many days when Luna's absence is so tangible. She definitely left a hole in our family, but to be cared for by so many others and to know that people do understand our loss definitely softens the blow a bit.
And this is the reality of caring for others. I have been doing it for so many years, but it is when I am on the receiving side that I truly understand the impact. I have had so many people tell me, "I couldn't have done this without you.", which of course isn't true as we all step up and do what we need to do when we need to do it. Nonetheless, it is the idea that having a caring hand or heart makes nearby makes difficult times easier. So, it's not that someone "couldn't" have done something without another person, but that the difficult task was made more manageable through the care of others.
The same can be said when it comes to my dad. I do believe he can still manage a lot of things on his own, but when I'm with him, some of the difficult parts of his life become easier. For instance, I could have the assisted living community take him to his doctor appointments, but they don't stay nearby and offer support. I do. I am there to take notes and ask questions and make sure dad is getting the best care possible.
This week I had to have a discussion with the manager at the assisted living community over some concerns I have had recently. It wasn't a fun conversation, but I needed to do it for my dad. For $4100/month I expect exceptional care for my dad. I don't expect for him to sleep on his floor all night yelling for help because he's fallen out of bed. I expect that after four months, and repeated discussions, housekeeping should be able to understand that the sheets go OVER the footrest at the end of the bed instead of tucked in which then frustrates dad and makes him sleep in his chair in the living room. I expect that people shouldn't have to sit alone in the dark in their rooms when there is a power outage because only the hallways have power (what happens in the winter with no heat?). I expect that when I call during a power outage and ask that a message be relayed to my dad, that he will actually get it.
So, although my dad lives in a community with 24-hour care. Ultimately, he relies on me to make sure he is truly cared for well. And I take that responsibility seriously. Last Friday, I stood in the pouring rain next to my car while my dad painstakingly tried to get his legs to do what he wanted and I realized that THIS is my caregiving life now. It doesn't matter if a caregiver is drenched. There aren't enough hands for an umbrella. I can fold up and unfold a walker with the precision I used to have when it came to strollers. I know how to look for the perfect handicap parking spot (they're not all perfect!). I look for fall hazards every where I go. I time my dad's activities around his bathroom needs and medication times of day. And my patience is continuously tested by the heartbreaking stillness and stiffness of Parkinson's.
Caregiving isn't just about taking care of the daily tasks of someone else. Although there are many, many people living out there doing just that. But it's also about the small moments of simply reaching out to another human being and offering a simple gesture of care.
Last night, my oral surgeon called just to check in on me. Not all oral surgeons do that. I'm sure he was home with his family making his nightly calls to check on his patients from that day. It's likely something he does every work day. And sometimes he probably gets a patient on the line who has lots of questions or concerns and he might spend quite a bit of time on the phone. All he did was leave me a voicemail, but that call made me feel cared for. He didn't just pull a tooth out of me and send me on my way, but he took an extra minute out of his day to call and check in. It's that simple stuff that makes a difference.
If we could all just take a moment out of every day to care for another human being, just think of all the difference we could make in the world.
Let me end this with a quick note about self-care, because the older I get, the more I truly understand how important this is as well. Although being cared for is a wonderful thing, there is great growth in self-care as well. Having my tooth pulled yesterday took 7 years of build-up. It should have been pulled years and years ago. But there was so much meaning behind that tooth (that's for another post). I had to work through all of that first. Now that I am on the other side, it is one of the greatest feelings. I am DONE with that tooth. And today, I am home and have a house I could clean and so many other things that I could be doing with a "free" day. But instead, I am going to rest. I am going to give myself this day of self care. A part of my body was removed from me yesterday and my body deserves time to heal. Even though that removed part was toxic, my body still needs time to fill the space that has been left behind and the best way to do that is to simply be still and let positive, refreshed energy fill the space rather than exhausted, overwhelmed energy. And so...today's plan is all about SELF-care.
The past two weeks I have provided care, I have been cared for and I have practiced self-care. And somehow the world seems just a little more peaceful because of it all. Take some time this weekend to offer some care to others and to yourself and perhaps to receive some care from others as well. In a world where there seems to always be the threat of yet another conflict, it is in these little moments of care that all the difference can be made.
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