Saturday, February 13, 2021

The Pause That Depresses

One more day.  

That is how long I have to hold everything together.  

One more day.

We kept busy today:  moving my father's furniture down to his new domicile, driving down to visit my mother, attending the burial of his sister who passed away from The Plague in January, driving back to my sister's to get a table, then driving back to his new domicile to put a last piece of furniture in, and finally going out to dinner with my sister and brother in law and returning home.

He is on the couch, napping.  He is, I am sure, exhausted. After all, he is in his early eighties and has not been doing a lot of physical activity lately.

I am (perhaps self-evidently) here typing, also exhausted.  Physically, to some extent - my sleep pattern is always off a little bit here, and his wrists have been keeping my father up at night.

But mostly mentally.

I am not by nature or disposition an optimistic person (our resident optimist, Ed of Riverbend Journal, handles that for us here).  But for the past week, I have had to be not just an optimist, but The Optimist.  

About a thousand years ago - or really last Tuesday - we moved my mother into a situation where, in one location or another, she will spend the rest of her life.  My father, not surprisingly, is very concerned about her but does not necessarily understand all the protocols.  So I and my sister have to explain:  Yes, she is okay.  Yes, she will be able to leave the room soon after her test.  Yes, we are sure that people are visiting her and checking on her.  Yes, we are sure she is eating.

And when my father and I have seen her, we have to reassure her as well:  Yes, you have to stay in your room right now.  Yes, you will be able to get out of your room soon.  No, you have to stay there for a little way longer - knowing full well "longer" is a very long time indeed.

With my father it is somewhat the same:  Yes, I am sure it will be hard at first when you move in, but you will get to know people.  Yes, I am sure the TV will be set up.  Yes, the place will be okay.  Yes, Mom will be there soon.

We need them to believe that this will work out for the best.  We exude optimism as a methodology to make it so, trying hard to will something into existence.

But then something like tonight comes:  my father asleep, moving tomorrow, me having seen my mother today with all of her things packed into a bag and asking when she can come home.  I almost lose the belief myself, falling into consideration of the totality of all that has happened in the last month.

But I cannot.  Not yet.  I have one more day to see the world through the eyes my parents desperately need me to see them through.

One more day.

12 comments:

  1. You are doing fine, TB. Continue to struggle for focus and clarity. Think about all the millions of things your parents did for you in the course of your life... this is your time to do for them. They have some traumatic changes to make, and you are there to face it with them. It may not seem so...but that is huge.

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    1. I know Glen. I thought about this morning as we had to drive to the emergency room for dad’a hand (swelling again): how many times did he do something of this nature for me and I did not know it?

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  2. When I find myself in an intolerable position, I chop it into manageable pieces. If I can't make it a day, I can make it till 5. If I can't make it to 5, I can make it to noon... I can make it 15 more minutes... I can do this for 30 seconds more.... It sounds crazy, but it works for me.

    courage and faith, brother.

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    1. STxAR, I am familiar with that thinking. There is so much that needs to be done but for now I have been trying to segmented into just this week and getting my parents relocated.

      Thank you. This, too, shall pass.

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  3. Everyone should be an optimist for awhile. I'm not sure it helps if everyone is pessimistic for awhile other than to balance us optimists out.

    Being optimistic, I know the sadness and sorrow of today easy with age and slowly become a mellow wine which I savor and pick out the good notes as I drink.

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    1. And that, Ed, is one of the many reasons your input is so welcome here.

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  4. That's really a rough situation TB. I think that you being the Optimist is really a good thing for your parents, I can see how hard that is though. Hope you're doing okay.

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    1. Thank you Rain. One puts on a brave face when one must.

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  5. As a healthcare guy I can and do say these hopeful things to people. Patients, who want reassurance that they will get better or maybe even just not die. Family members who don't know what to do and sometimes just don't care. I really guess the most important thing I can say and do is "I'm here, I'll be here for as long as you want and need me, but I am here beside you." I'm thinking about my family and situation but I will be in that position, soon. I don't know what else to say except you are doing the right thing for your parents and helping them as best you can.

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    1. Thanks Unknown. I truly believe we are doing the right thing and that their lives will be better for it and I am sure that once we get through this initial period we can enter a new rhythm. It is just the getting there that is hard at the moment.

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  6. I didn't realize I had fallen so far behind.
    I have been praying for you all, And I pray God will give you strength.
    *hugs* ♥

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    1. Thank you Linda. You have more than your share of things going on as well.

      We appreciate the prayers.

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