“Each of us in our own way can try to spread compassion into people’s hearts.” Dalai Lama
When I was a child all I really wanted to be was a grown up. I couldn’t wait to be out on my own living my own life. Now of course I sometimes feel like one of Ashleigh Brilliant’s sayings, “It would be easier to play my role in life if I had a copy of the script.” Any more I feel like the scriptwriters are forgetting to give me the revisions. What am I suppose to be doing here?
I struggled back to work yesterday after having to come home the day before because the inner ear balance went nuts again and I was ready to pass out. I slept all day. If I hadn’t been so out of it I would of realized my Mom was not telling me something. I came home yesterday from work to find her in bed as white as a sheet. She had gone through a long spell of not being able to breathe. She wouldn’t tell me but I overheard her tell my brother that she thought she wasn’t going to make it. She didn’t call me at work because she knew I would have made her go to the hospital. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that the next tests showed this was another heart attack.
Any more the child has become the mother. I find myself telling her what to do. I can pretty much ride herd on her when I am at home but when I’m at work there is nothing I can do. She is out raking up grass without wearing her mask. She mops a floor that doesn’t need mopping. I tell her to leave the upstairs alone and I’ll get it this weekend but no she feels she can do it. She is just fine. Death warmed over looks better then she does this morning. A sleepy cat looks more awake then I do because I kept waking up during the night hearing her cough and trying to ascertain whether I needed to be down there with her or whether she would get agitated. It is a fine line between taking care of her and overdoing it in her mind.
In the end I used Pixie as a guide. The cat stayed with Mom when she was real bad and wandered around upstairs to see me when Mom was just restless. Mom was up this morning to check and make sure Pixie hadn’t run out of the house when my brother went to work. I’m sure in a half hour she will be checking to make sure she didn’t try to go out when I go to work. Pixie keeps her going.
If I could go back to when I was a child I think I would settle back and enjoy it more and not want to be in such a hurry to grown up. Or at the very least knowing what I do now as an adult reversing the roles and taking care of a mother, I would appreciate the efforts my parents made in taking care of me more.
We really need more help and support as care givers and I certainly hope that in the health care reform coming up that someone realizes it. We can’t keep doing this alone.
When I was a child all I really wanted to be was a grown up. I couldn’t wait to be out on my own living my own life. Now of course I sometimes feel like one of Ashleigh Brilliant’s sayings, “It would be easier to play my role in life if I had a copy of the script.” Any more I feel like the scriptwriters are forgetting to give me the revisions. What am I suppose to be doing here?
I struggled back to work yesterday after having to come home the day before because the inner ear balance went nuts again and I was ready to pass out. I slept all day. If I hadn’t been so out of it I would of realized my Mom was not telling me something. I came home yesterday from work to find her in bed as white as a sheet. She had gone through a long spell of not being able to breathe. She wouldn’t tell me but I overheard her tell my brother that she thought she wasn’t going to make it. She didn’t call me at work because she knew I would have made her go to the hospital. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that the next tests showed this was another heart attack.
Any more the child has become the mother. I find myself telling her what to do. I can pretty much ride herd on her when I am at home but when I’m at work there is nothing I can do. She is out raking up grass without wearing her mask. She mops a floor that doesn’t need mopping. I tell her to leave the upstairs alone and I’ll get it this weekend but no she feels she can do it. She is just fine. Death warmed over looks better then she does this morning. A sleepy cat looks more awake then I do because I kept waking up during the night hearing her cough and trying to ascertain whether I needed to be down there with her or whether she would get agitated. It is a fine line between taking care of her and overdoing it in her mind.
In the end I used Pixie as a guide. The cat stayed with Mom when she was real bad and wandered around upstairs to see me when Mom was just restless. Mom was up this morning to check and make sure Pixie hadn’t run out of the house when my brother went to work. I’m sure in a half hour she will be checking to make sure she didn’t try to go out when I go to work. Pixie keeps her going.
If I could go back to when I was a child I think I would settle back and enjoy it more and not want to be in such a hurry to grown up. Or at the very least knowing what I do now as an adult reversing the roles and taking care of a mother, I would appreciate the efforts my parents made in taking care of me more.
We really need more help and support as care givers and I certainly hope that in the health care reform coming up that someone realizes it. We can’t keep doing this alone.
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