Yesterday I didn't call my parents all day. I get to do that, not call them for a whole day. I didn't check in on them at all. I get to have a day off from that...this is something I allow for myself once or twice a week. I'm supposed to have Fridays off when my sister comes to town to handle my parents' requests for a day. She doesn't always make it. And she doesn't actually call them and check in on them everyday. And if she doesn't call them during the day, Mom doesn't call her to remind her of her duty. Like she does with me.
We made it to around 3 p.m. without contact. My boys and I were having a lovely, peaceful Saturday afternoon at home. We had a fire going in the fireplace. I had made turkey and dumpling for a late lunch. Nothing was going on. We get to have that, a lazy day every once in awhile where nothing is going on.
But she had to call me. And she didn't say "hello" or "how are the boys today". It was a summons.
"Hello?"
"Come over now."
"What's going on?"
This is where she mumbles in confusing disjointed statements, something about Dad dismantling the phones and not being able to put them back together and how he might cut himself with his tools and he wanted me to come over to fix everything (like I know how to fix a phone) and how he's really mad at her for telling him to be careful.
This is where I have had to start using judgment on the matter, because I get summoned like this all the time, three or four times a week. As if I'm Servicemaster. And it's never a quick trip. It's a two to three hour event. Every time. Usually for nothing.
So I turned her down.
"I'm sorry, I can't come today. I was planning to be there tomorrow."
"Why, what are you doing today?" Really, do I need to justify what I'm doing with an activity of higher importance?
"It sounds like Dad's handling whatever it is that needs handling and I don't need to come over right now."
A brief pause, then, "Okay, are you going to be at home for the rest of the day?"
Really? "In case I need to call you for an emergency."
"Mom, if it's an emergency, call 911. Then call me."
And then she just hung up.
I used to go running over when she called, but found that my household was slowly falling apart over time if I indulged her fears like that. Mom has never been able to work through her own crap. She's always used the family to manage her emotions for. And it always took its toll on us, sometimes for days, while she just moved on as if nothing happened. Once I recognized that, I would get so angry!
One time I was working on becoming a more perfect Christian woman and tried to learn about forgiveness. I studied the Bible, read other people's work, prayed and meditated about it. Eventually, I came to a state of forgiveness with my mother and knew I could walk away from all the hurt and sorrow from the past and move on with my life in love. I thanked God for the lesson. And, I swear, in the very next moment, Mom called and pissed me off all over again! Did she not know that I had forgiven her and she didn't have to go on being the person that she was, that she could move on and be a wonderful woman and not be tied to her past?!!!!!
Yeah, I had a big laugh over that one too. And once again, it was made clear that I can only change myself and that she will never, ever change. I can go on being angry and suffering the effects of that for the rest of my life, or I can learn to see her actions and behaviors for what they are and respond accordingly. Mostly I'll get it right, and I can forgive myself if I get it wrong.
After I stopped with the knee-jerk reactions to Mom's summons, I had to learn to deal with nearly unbearable guilt for not being there for her like I used to. It's definitely a process and it takes time. I don't like guilt. I don't like it hanging around my heart like a shadow. I don't like the knots it produces in my stomach. I don't like being manipulated by it and I don't care to let it motivate me. I find it a useless, damaging emotion. I refuse to be mired by it in my life any longer!
And when guilt is out of the picture, I can continue to grow with purpose into a much happier woman, at peace with where I've been and more hopeful about where I'm going.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
How to be supportive without getting swallowed whole...
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!
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!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Whoever invented Christmas vacation didn't consult single parents about it!
My youngest is back to school, finally. My oldest has two more weeks of uselessness remaining.
I gave Quinn a work list today. I expect him to get it all done in the next nine days. I handed him the list then walked away from micro-managing the situation. That was tough! It's going to be a daily challenge for me. I have to come up with a consequence for the things he doesn't get done. He's 18...do 18-year-olds still living at home with Mom get consequences?
I could use some suggestions...
I gave Quinn a work list today. I expect him to get it all done in the next nine days. I handed him the list then walked away from micro-managing the situation. That was tough! It's going to be a daily challenge for me. I have to come up with a consequence for the things he doesn't get done. He's 18...do 18-year-olds still living at home with Mom get consequences?
- I can't take car keys and driving privileges from him since he doesn't have is license yet.
- I can't take away the XBox, or his computer. That's just a little too juvenile.
- I can't dock his allowance, he's still working off about $400 and he's not getting any money from me.
- I can't stop feeding him.
I could use some suggestions...
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Transitioning my boys (and my parenting) to modern American life
My sons have both grown up in an overseas expatriate environment, right up till just over a year ago. It was a charming lifestyle, full of travel and adventure, daily maid service, exceptional education, instant friendships. They never had to work hard at anything, never had to develop ambitions. This lifestyle did absolutely nothing to prepare them for life in the US, as gainfully employed, self-motivated, worker bees. It's starting to take it's toll on my eldest. He doesn't understand that privilege isn't guaranteed for life. He doesn't find value in extra effort. How does one teach that?
There really was no guidance on how to raise children to later be reintegrated into their home society when we moved overseas. I've since read many books and articles on the aftermath of the expatriate child's upbringing, also known as "third-culture kids". It wasn't until we were committed to the overseas work assignment that we were told how these sorts of children have difficulty with maintaining long-term relationships later in life, never feel that they belong, frequently experience restlessness. We also didn't exactly know how to deal with the outside pressures on parenting styles from other expatriate parents while living in a small, closed community. (When one kid got a Game Boy, everyone had to get one!)
So now I'm working at helping my sons get back into modern American life, and it's no easy task! They went from school with low student-teacher ratios (5 to 1) to public classrooms of 32. Some suggested private education at local Christian-based institutions, but those schools' scores didn't show me the value in that. And then there's the provincial nature of the local population...my kids are well traveled! They came back to students spewing their parents' MSNBC or FOX News biased commentary about race-relations, economics and an isolationist world-view. (What information do 6th graders manage to collect about political views on their own? I don't even recall having a political opinion until I started getting a paycheck and voting.)
I'm not sure what I can do for my 18-year-old at this point. Community college seems very much like the TV show to me, somewhere between high school hand-holding and collegiate pseudo-independence, filled with colorful not-so-mainstream characters. Quinn's still hanging out with his high school friends, good kids with higher ambitions. I'm hoping he clings to all his goals and it all works out for him. There's a girlfriend in the picture now. She's so quiet. I have no idea who she is or what her intentions are with regards to my son...I'm so unprepared to be the mother of boy who is sexually active. I'm constantly monitoring their interaction. I'm recalling what I did when I was at the same community college...I'm visibly cringing right now!
I'm hesitant to get Rhyan into 8th grade, with a year of middle school experience before he heads into high school. Middle school is an experience that no one relishes, but I don't see how continuing home school will benefit him socially. It's time to get out there and learn how to interact with other people, how to make the right choices when it comes to friends, how to stand up for himself in certain social situations. That sort of thing is new to me. I didn't get that from my parents, who chose the ostrich method of parenting (if we don't see it, then it doesn't exist in our world and we don't have to teach you how to handle it). They only taught me how to cook and clean and be quiet...fat lot of good that did me!
There really was no guidance on how to raise children to later be reintegrated into their home society when we moved overseas. I've since read many books and articles on the aftermath of the expatriate child's upbringing, also known as "third-culture kids". It wasn't until we were committed to the overseas work assignment that we were told how these sorts of children have difficulty with maintaining long-term relationships later in life, never feel that they belong, frequently experience restlessness. We also didn't exactly know how to deal with the outside pressures on parenting styles from other expatriate parents while living in a small, closed community. (When one kid got a Game Boy, everyone had to get one!)
So now I'm working at helping my sons get back into modern American life, and it's no easy task! They went from school with low student-teacher ratios (5 to 1) to public classrooms of 32. Some suggested private education at local Christian-based institutions, but those schools' scores didn't show me the value in that. And then there's the provincial nature of the local population...my kids are well traveled! They came back to students spewing their parents' MSNBC or FOX News biased commentary about race-relations, economics and an isolationist world-view. (What information do 6th graders manage to collect about political views on their own? I don't even recall having a political opinion until I started getting a paycheck and voting.)
I'm not sure what I can do for my 18-year-old at this point. Community college seems very much like the TV show to me, somewhere between high school hand-holding and collegiate pseudo-independence, filled with colorful not-so-mainstream characters. Quinn's still hanging out with his high school friends, good kids with higher ambitions. I'm hoping he clings to all his goals and it all works out for him. There's a girlfriend in the picture now. She's so quiet. I have no idea who she is or what her intentions are with regards to my son...I'm so unprepared to be the mother of boy who is sexually active. I'm constantly monitoring their interaction. I'm recalling what I did when I was at the same community college...I'm visibly cringing right now!
I'm hesitant to get Rhyan into 8th grade, with a year of middle school experience before he heads into high school. Middle school is an experience that no one relishes, but I don't see how continuing home school will benefit him socially. It's time to get out there and learn how to interact with other people, how to make the right choices when it comes to friends, how to stand up for himself in certain social situations. That sort of thing is new to me. I didn't get that from my parents, who chose the ostrich method of parenting (if we don't see it, then it doesn't exist in our world and we don't have to teach you how to handle it). They only taught me how to cook and clean and be quiet...fat lot of good that did me!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Home schooling a 13-year-old boy
Every night it's the same battle...getting the boy into bed. At 8:30 p.m., I tell him that the electronics have to be turned off and he has to get ready for bed, and then spend at least 30 minutes on recreational reading. Then there's an argument over semantics:
"If you make me read, then it's not recreational. I don't like to read, so it's never going to be recreational. Why can't I just watch TV until I fall asleep?"
This argument goes on, down a variety of trails, until I get angry. Then the argument switches to a deeply hurt child that can't believe he was spoken to in such a manner. Bathroom cabinets are slammed, drawers are thumped, lasers shoot from his eyes.
Eventually he's in bed, by 10. Still wearing his taekwondo uniform.
Ten hours later, I send the dog in to wake him up. She's effective, but that was only Stage 1. He doesn't actually get out of bed for at least 30 more minutes. He mutters something about not being able to go to sleep the night before. I let him know what my expectations are: get out of bed, get cleaned up and dressed, eat breakfast, walk the dog. I leave for my Pilates class and don't return until 10:30. He's watching cartoons with the dog on the sofa. Sometimes he's done everything I've asked him to do, sometimes he doesn't. It depends on the tone of voice I've used before I leave the house. I still haven't identified the specific magical tone that motivates him. It seems to change daily.
If I tell him to start school, he gets angry. If I don't tell him to start school, he won't start. I'm not allowed to go over his work with him, but at the end of the school day, if he didn't complete something, it's because I didn't go over it with him. If he completely skips an assignment, it's because it wasn't a naturally easy thing for him to do. He doesn't like thinking, or writing. Or reading.
If I exert my will over him, remain in a state of anger and use it to control him, then everything gets done. I don't mind that he "hates" me, as long as it all gets done and he's learned something. As long as he's prepared to go to college when all this is done. But I don't like the stress of it all. I don't understand why I have to be a bitch in order for him to get to work and produce quality work. He's a very intelligent boy. He will become an engineer some day. It's how his brain works. He's just so resistant! An endless, bottomless well of resistance!
Next year he's going back to public school for 8th grade. I can't take this much longer!
"If you make me read, then it's not recreational. I don't like to read, so it's never going to be recreational. Why can't I just watch TV until I fall asleep?"
This argument goes on, down a variety of trails, until I get angry. Then the argument switches to a deeply hurt child that can't believe he was spoken to in such a manner. Bathroom cabinets are slammed, drawers are thumped, lasers shoot from his eyes.
Eventually he's in bed, by 10. Still wearing his taekwondo uniform.
Ten hours later, I send the dog in to wake him up. She's effective, but that was only Stage 1. He doesn't actually get out of bed for at least 30 more minutes. He mutters something about not being able to go to sleep the night before. I let him know what my expectations are: get out of bed, get cleaned up and dressed, eat breakfast, walk the dog. I leave for my Pilates class and don't return until 10:30. He's watching cartoons with the dog on the sofa. Sometimes he's done everything I've asked him to do, sometimes he doesn't. It depends on the tone of voice I've used before I leave the house. I still haven't identified the specific magical tone that motivates him. It seems to change daily.
If I tell him to start school, he gets angry. If I don't tell him to start school, he won't start. I'm not allowed to go over his work with him, but at the end of the school day, if he didn't complete something, it's because I didn't go over it with him. If he completely skips an assignment, it's because it wasn't a naturally easy thing for him to do. He doesn't like thinking, or writing. Or reading.
If I exert my will over him, remain in a state of anger and use it to control him, then everything gets done. I don't mind that he "hates" me, as long as it all gets done and he's learned something. As long as he's prepared to go to college when all this is done. But I don't like the stress of it all. I don't understand why I have to be a bitch in order for him to get to work and produce quality work. He's a very intelligent boy. He will become an engineer some day. It's how his brain works. He's just so resistant! An endless, bottomless well of resistance!
Next year he's going back to public school for 8th grade. I can't take this much longer!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
I skipped a whole year!
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.
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.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The holidays really can suck!
I'm taking a personal day. I'm not sick, but I am feeling rather overwhelmed today.
I've felt like this for days. I couldn't figure out why, because traditionally the holiday season hasn't carried any importance to me and my family. But this year, with the impending divorce and a complete restructuring of our lives, we seem to have nothing on which to hang a feeling of cohesiveness.
My boys are going to spend Christmas with their father on the other side of the world, and I'm going to spend some time with my girlfriend in Southern California. (We'll go to a spa, go to the gym, buy munchies at Whole Foods and watch a lot of mindless TV.) My mother is whining because she assumed I would spend the ten days I'm away from the boys with her, but there isn't enough vodka on the planet for me to even consider doing that! I keep trying to figure out why I'm in such a funk for a season that doesn't mean much to me. I think it's because I want to recharge our sense of family but I don't really know how.
So today I gave up, for the day, on caring for myself, cleaning house, filing papers and paying bills. I am just sitting around the house, watching HGTV and really lame Lifetime and Hallmark Christmas dramas, eating sourdough toast. And as I sit on my favorite wicker chair, I look around my house and wish it was clean and wish I knew how much decorating for the holidays I should do. I'm conflicted. If we're not going to be here, then why bother. And yet, I want to change up what's going on around the house, get a different feel for the house, warm it up, so that the boys will know they have a real home to come back to, and that this is where we experience family.
I'm having the carpets and windows cleaned this week, and Merry Maids will be coming in to get everything else cleaned before the end of the year. The boys come back on the 30th, so they will come back to a clean home, everything organized, and some winter decor in place. (I don't do the Santa thing...we decorate with snowmen!) We'll have a small New Year's Eve dinner, just the three of us. Then on New Year's Day, I'm hosting an open house for family and friends, with lots of food and drink, conversation, music, games and a massive Halo 3 event with wall-to-wall boys of all ages. I'm inviting everyone who has been instrumental in helping us feel at home since returning to California. We've very grateful to them all!
Maybe this New Year's Day celebration will become our annual family thing. Maybe that sense of family cohesiveness with gain some traction that day and we'll be starting the new year in the right direction. I hope we can find our new family identity, one we can all share and believe in. We used to be world travelers, but that was really on an activity and didn't mean anything with regards to developing character and a strong sense of family and purpose, which is the direction in which I really want us to move. I'm not sure how to do that, yet.
I'm still surprised how writing all this down makes me feel better. I actually want to get a shower now!
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