No, I don't know how to do that. But I'm determined to learn how, if its even possible. I wonder how the Hospice people do it, or if they struggle with it too.
My dad's going to die soon, I think. This week the Hospice nurse had to increase his pain medication again. The pain has now moved forward into his front rib cage. Even in his really fuzzy thinking, Dad's scared to die. He's scared to let go. He still wants to buy vitamins with his credit card over the phone and find that miracle cure. He wants to ride his bike one more time. He wants to feel like he belongs. I don't know how to make that happen for him. He calls us all to have a family gathering at the house, but he can't take all the people in the house any longer. He just wakes up, gets bathed and fed, just to go back to bed to sleep for the next round of eating.
Mom called yesterday. She's really stressed.. She's stressed when the Hospice people come to help because she has to hover to make sure they know what they're doing. She's stressed because she thinks the house is a mess, but its not, not even remotely. Cleaning is what she does to feel like she's in control of her life. She's stressed because Dad's not eating enough, and he's not awake enough to eat, and she doesn't know what she can cook to make him well (that's her dream) or just keep him alive and engaged just a little bit longer. Because she let go of living a long time ago, let go of friends and joy and meaningful activities, and when Dad passes, she won't have that in place. And she won't even listen when we offer to take her out, to go to the local senior center, because she feels she needs to stay in the house because Dad panics if she's not around.
And I'm not sure how to deal with this. I'm no longer thinking about what's my responsibility to them, as one of their daughters. I'm observing how my old tendency to swoop in and emotionally take care of my mother no longer appeals to me. I'm not responsible for walking Mom's emotional path through the end of Dad's life, through the grief that's to come, and help her construct a new life on the other side. I'm angry that she's not taken responsibility for herself. I'm angry that my parents didn't think to downsize their lifestyle so they could better manage it in their later years. They've lived with this cancer for 11 years. They knew what was coming. Neither of them stepped up for their own parents' later years, and yet the expectation hovers over me and my sister to be there for them and make everything right.
(There are times when I wish I could cry, for them, for the situation, for myself. but I think the divorce and the constant stress sucked all that out of me. I'm not feeling any tenderness any longer. So I've learned a trick. I put on Pandora's ESP [Deep Relaxation] Channel, and I sort of experience deeper emotions of sadness and pathos through the music. I get a glimpse at my heart through the music. It's how I know I still have one.)
I watched Eat, Pray, Love late last night when I couldn't sleep. I wasn't going to watch it, but there was nothing else I cared to do. I can't comment on the book, because I never read it. I don't know how closely the movie follows the book. I thought the movie was rather predictable. A beautiful, middle-aged woman (and Julia sooooooo represents us all?) travels the globe to find herself. And is rewarded at the end of the movie with what could be the love of her life. Javier Bardem...oh so yummy! She is his reward as well. Beautiful people having achieved enlightenment, moving forward with contentment into their beautiful life together...in Bali.
What I identified with was the hunger. Hunger for balance, hunger for peace, hunger for something I can't quite put my finger on. Everyday I'm hungry, for something (not pasta or pizza). Actually, contentment and peace don't seem to satiate me. That's a state that can't be maintained without effort, and usually I need fresh underwear and the dog needs a walk somewhere in between. Contentment and peace shouldn't be a state one achieves and maintains in stillness. It's something you want available in a crisis too. And I think it's something I can find as long as my actions, my choices, my breath is sincere and entirely my own. Living with intent gives me peace. I find contentment in moments throughout my day, on some days more so than others. I think that's a function of fully participating in living my life.
A larger part of me wishes I could impart that to my parents. They pray, but from what I can tell, they look at God as a magical genie who will bless them with what they want if all the conditions are right. They include in their prayers something about God's will being done, but I don't observe that they really mean it. I'd like to pray that I could recognize what his will is in my life. Maybe then I wouldn't be struggling so. Maybe we just can't accept that dying a very slow and painful death would be God's will. Because if it is his will, then who are we dealing with here?
And that's a whole other blog!
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