Blessing vs. Burden Mindset

The Monday after Mother’s Day, I hit a wall. I couldn’t wake up and stay awake – I just couldn’t do it. I had been running on empty for so long visiting my parents at their new “home” every day, talking to nurses and aides and therapists of all sorts. Running everywhere; doing everything. Signing papers I never wanted to think about let alone sign. DNR were merely three letters to me a month ago. But oh the difference a month makes. Do Not Resuscitate…two people I love most.

Family meetings, dispersal of a lifetime of memories as well as the garden variety of possessions and plain old junk. How long will this take? It boggles the mind. Never have I been more grateful that I’m not an only child. And never have I been more grateful that my parents took the time and made the sacrifices to make their family what it is today. The part of me that is them is getting me through this difficult time.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday I just couldn’t seem to get it together. My reserves were clean spent. My burden mindset held me tight within its clutches. How could I keep going? I couldn’t do it anymore. And I wasn’t very happy with God. How could this be happening? What did He expect of me? How much does one person have to take? I wasn’t exactly Pollyanna before all of this.

I’ve never quite mastered the mom-of-four-men role yet. The mom-of-four-boys was my forte for years – my reason to wake up in the morning. But then they all grew up. And as they grew their messes grew proportionately. Their little problems were bumps in the road of life 10 years ago; now each is responsible for their own life-altering decisions. And I can’t help them. Letting go is my primary mom role right now.

And letting go is my secondary role with my parents. I know it. And I hate it. Every time I think of my mom alone in her new room I want to cry. Yet every time I visit my dad he is remarkably improved. Pop is working his hardest at physical therapy each day because he is thinking first of his wife’s well-being. He knows that once they can be together in one room that my mom will feel better. He’s probably right. After all, he’s known her since she was 16 years old. For 74 years she has been his best friend.

With all these emotions swirling around in me it’s a wonder I kept it together as long as I had. But long about Thursday I knew I had to rejoin the land of the living – somehow. God knew I was kind of mad at Him. But still I asked His help. No amount of sleep or running away would do the trick. I needed God’s help. And, of course, He gave it to me.

Even though I had been an ungrateful child whose family and friends had bombarded heaven with prayer requests which God had graciously granted, apparently that wasn’t enough for me. How soon I’d forgotten what God had done. My dad didn’t die when he conked his head on concrete. My dad is getting stronger. My parents are as together as they can be two halls away from each other. They are safe and well cared for, seeing each other every day.

And I think I have it rough! But that’s me. I require reality checks, and never once have the checks been pleasant. It amuses me to realize how much I complain to God about my boys-turned-men. Who does God complain to about me?

I needed the blessing mindset. Walking through my parents’ house I spied so many treasures that mean the world to me. But where on earth will they fit in this already bulging house of junk? Lack of storage has been a much-preferred lament for years. Suddenly the light bulb brightened above my head. God showed me the way. He gave me the guts to tell my dear darlings that they WILL comply – or else. And He gave me the needed energy to devise and begin implementing the plan. I feel differently because it’s not me against them; it’s me and God against them. I know God’s not against my kids, not really. He’s just “for” what’s right. And part of what will make this whole situation better is working together to improve this house. The “ending” of my parents’ home is a new beginning for my home.

I’ve always felt that I’ll never truly grow up until I don’t have my parents any longer. They’ve been my rock since Day One. So I can’t reject these last lessons of maturing even though I’d rather fly away to Never Never Land with Peter. So I stay and plan and do and take one day at a time recognizing all the small as well as great blessings God bestows on me even during my most troubled times.

Nice to Be Back

It's been such a long time since I have written on my blog. Thank you to all who have prayed for me and mine. My dad has steadily improved, and both parents have moved into Assisted Living. My Marine is doing great. The past month has both flown and dragged. Falling into bed each night hasn't left much time for writing but a couple weeks ago I started my column back up at CatholicMom.com and would like to share with you those columns.

A was going strong writing on this blog every day until the big derailment. So now I shall write when I can but I know it won't be every day. Thanks for reading.

Is Honesty Always the Best Policy?

Where do I begin…to tell the story of how strange a time it’s been? These last four weeks have been a blur. It all began one afternoon when my almost 90-year-old dad fell and cracked his head open on the concrete. How my almost 91-year-old mom had the presence of mind to phone my brother is still beyond me. Yet she didn’t think to call 911 or punch the button on her own I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up-bracelet. There my dad lay in a pool of blood.

Since then our family has seen a hospital stay for my dad, and round-the-clock care for my mom, followed by THE MOVE for my dad into a skilled nursing facility, and my mom into the assisted living side. We knew the day would eventually come. And now it’s here. Luckily, we were somewhat prepared after having toured a place we all liked a few months ago – as much as the word “like” can be used in these circumstances.

So for the past weeks my life has not been my own in any conceivable way, shape or form. I have another life. What I once did, I no longer do. My house is a shambles. We eat out nearly every day. My writing consists only of daily e-mail updates to friends and family.

This is early May when my flowerbeds should all be cleaned out. I should be shopping at nurseries for colorful flowers to stick in the ground. Instead I am hit full force each day with the fragility and mortality of two people whom I love most in all the world. I realize my mom’s forgetfulness is so much more than mere forgetfulness; I watch my dad struggle to raise a two pound bar in physical therapy.

Sitting next to my mom at dinner on Mother’s Day, she turned to me and asked, “Is anything new with you?”

“No, Mom, not much.” Sometimes you just have to lie.