I have a new computer and I've migrated a lot of my files to the new desktop, which is how I stumbled upon my last entry here. Oh yeah, I used to blog regularly. I used to do a lot of things regularly. Before my parents hijacked my life, even more so this last year.
Since last we spoke, the divorce was finalized, I became a single parent (ex has, for all intents and purposes, checked out of the boys' lives and has married what I am assuming is a mail-order bride from the Philippines), graduated a kid from high school and got him going to the local community college (for which I am part-time chauffer), I've been home-schooling my younger son for the last year, we adopted a Jackabee puppy (Chloe - so darn cute, clever and wicked!), we've moved to a new house (good thing and I moved everything myself!), I started attending Pilates classes, started my own freelance web design business and just published my first website for a client, and started back at school (finally).
Things have drastically changed for my parents. In July, my dad suffered additional injury to his ribs when he reached up for a bag of ice at the local market and it came crashing down, wrenching his back and cracking a couple ribs in the process. He's got cancer, multiple myeloma, and his bones are really weak and thinning. The pain was excruciating for him and he was bed-ridden for quite some time. Eventually the doctor got him to get some radiation treatment on his ribs in hopes that the localized killing of the cancer cells would promote regrowth of the bones and help alleviate the pain. He was also started on stronger pain meds. After just six treatments, my dad decided to end all cancer treatment and opted for Hospice to commence with palliative care. I think my dad thought he was going to die in a few weeks. It's now been six months, and he's not dead yet. The problem is his organs and immune system are still in good shape and he's not going to die right away. It might be another two years. And he's really surprised by this.
This is where I've come to be disappointed by my dad. He made this decision because, frankly, he's a big baby when it comes to pain and difficult stuff like that. he'd rather spend thousands of dollars on vitamin supplements hoping to give him a miraculous cure that do nothing but deplete his bank account. He's now mentally out-to-lunch but still thinks he's functioning properly. And since my mother has never gotten up to speed on finances, etc., I've spent the last few months slowly taking over the fiscal running of their household, when my dad allows me to. He still maintains car insurance thinking he's going to drive the car, while on massive doses of morphine! Thankfully, the car's been disabled.
This is all making my mother's life really too much to take. But they refuse to hire housekeepers. Actually, they did, briefly, but decided they didn't want to pay for it. They waited for me to step in and take over the housekeeping and other aspects of their life, and for a brief time, I did, and they slowly stopped doing things for themselves. Things they were perfectly capable of doing for themselves. I recently woke up to that realization and quit doing a lot of things for them. I still run errands and take Mom to her medical appointments, and sometimes I do a few household repairs or call someone to do them. But even though Mom's 81 (or 82, or even 83, depending on who she's talking to), she can still do her laundry, make meals and do light housekeeping. Hospice sends someone to bathe Dad and do a little more housekeeping. Dad finally agreed to hire gardeners (after my sons broke both his old lawnmowers), and a very nice man that lives nearby helps out with some maintenance work around the house for free.
I still get daily phone calls. Mom whimpers when she needs me to do something for her. Or she lies and says Dad needs something, as if dropping his name will make me run over there that much faster. Whenever I tell her about something I intend to do for myself, like take my sons to the movies or host a small dinner party for friends, she does her best to guilt me out of having a good time. She wants to be invited so she can turn me down and whine about how bad the end of her life has become. She wouldn't recognize joy if it whacked her between the eyes! I am constantly offering to take her out, to find someone else to sit with Dad so she can go get her hair done or to take her out for lunch. She refuses all the offers. And she pouts when she sees that I'm moving on with my life.
And that is exactly what I must do. I must move on with my life, with my plans. Someday, both my parents will be gone, and all their gratitude for my help, their legacy of the years of emotional abuse and inadequate upbringing, and the small inheritance that they wish they could leave me but are in the process of spending on vitamins and health supplement claims that do nothing for them will leave me with nothing upon which to build a life for myself. My kids will move on, and I'll be stuck in a small town that offers little for someone like me.
I'm terrified that my vision of my future is going to be co-opted by long-standing bitterness over missed opportunities because I was a dutiful wife/mother/daughter/friend. I'm scared I'll get sick and die from the stress before I actually do something on my own, for myself. Someone keeps telling me about my reward in heaven, but I'm never going to get to that if I'm so angry about the life I've had in the present.
I'm determined to find balance, I cling to hope and exercise faith in my resilience and intelligence. I don't know what the coming year has in store for me. I hope there's a meaningful holiday in there, some good progress with friendships, a better economy that will support my business efforts. I hope my health holds out. I pray my sons are safe and that I can be a more effective parent. And I'd like to train my dog to come when called, no matter how interesting the other side of the street looks.
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