2008--I Wish For Strength

One of my caregiver friends, Lori, is hoping for a better year. She hopes 2008 will be “her” year; A year of renewed life without pain, fear, tears, and hope of better things in her life. I wish that for her, too.

A writer friend of mine, Keith, asked what everyone had planned for New Year’s Eve. Keith said he stays at home, alone, and reflects on the past year and his life. He listed numerous questions that he asks himself each year to complete his day of reflection and those questions—extremely well thought out and excellent for reflecting on one’s life—really struck a chord with me. Not a bad chord in the respect that there was anything wrong with the questions, but in the respect that I felt worthless, hopeless, and lost when I reflected on those questions and answered them honestly.

Some of his questions were:
“What have I done with the year? Which goals did I accomplish and which ones didn’t I and why not? What am I willing to change about myself to accomplish those things? Am I living the life I want to live? Am I enjoying what I’m doing or did I just fall into it or am I living deliberately and on purpose or am I just taking everything as it happens and coping with it all? What’s been holding me back and how can I change it? What more could I do? Have other people’s needs and urgencies enveloped me to the point that mine, and my families, come second?”

These were just a few of some fifty questions he asks himself. The remaining questions were even more thought provoking, more deeply centered, and more heart wrenching to answer.

I haven’t done anything this past year for myself and I’ve given up any goals I’ve wanted to accomplish. I’m not living for me. I’m living for my mom, and her needs and urgencies have enveloped me to the point that mine, and my families have come second.

My life, this past year and the two before that, has been centered on Mom. That’s not saying that I would change it or want to change it; it’s just saying that I have concentrated so deeply on keeping her healthy and comfortable that my life has become unhealthy and uncomfortable. There is no life besides what I do with and for Mom. My life, as I knew it, has become nonexistent.

A feeling of worthlessness struck me head-on when I realized that even though Mom is doing fine, I’ve failed. I’ve failed Two Feather, my daughters, and my grandchildren. I’ve even failed myself. I’ve not been there for them during times they needed me most. I’ve not done things I would normally do and I’ve not lived life the way I would normally live. I’ve failed everything and everyone, except Mom.

My life is and has been hanging in the darkness of a disease called Alzheimer’s and, with each day, I hang on deliberately, yet I take everything as it happens and cope with it all. I cope with the explicit purpose that Mom lives on—only to die a horrible death. I feel worthless because nothing I’m doing will change the outcome.

As I reflect on this past year, there are probably many things I could have changed that would have given me and my family more time, more joys, and more life to live with each other, but had I changed what I’d done, I would have felt selfish. Nothing in this care giving role has ever been about me and never have I done anything for myself. I suppose I could change things in the upcoming year and think of my health, my family, and myself. I suppose I could take a long look at what I’ve done and what I haven’t done and try to decide whether or not it was all worth it. I suppose I could take my life back. But would that be me?

Someday, I’ll sit with Keith’s list of questions and answer them with myself in mind and maybe I’ll find answers that make me realize I’ve done something good. Someday, I’ll make plans and set goals for myself, once again, and no doubt accomplish them. Someday, I’ll live the life I’ve dreamed of, and do the things I’ve thought of doing. Someday. Someday when Mom’s life is complete. The last three years weren’t the years to do that. And 2008 probably won’t be either.

I can’t say that I wish myself a better year next year. There is no better with Alzheimer’s. Death may be better than the pain and suffering that will ensue. But I’ll not wish for death. I know when Alzheimer’s takes Mom I’ll still feel worthless and hopelessly lost.

Have I lived my dreams or done what I’d really like to do? No, not really. I was just starting to do that before I moved in with Mom. I’ve put Mom in front of everything and everyone, including myself. Yes, I’d like to be sleeping in my own bed, living in my own house with Two Feather, spending time with my daughters and grandchildren anytime I feel like it, and submitting and writing my novels. Hell, I’d just like to be writing again. Other than this stupid blog, I don’t even write anymore. I’d like to be getting on with my life, living my life, and accomplishing all the goals I set for myself back in 2004, but my life is on hold. I’m feeling worthless and lost—waiting for a hopeless and dreadful end—giving Mom love and the comfort of her home in her remaining time on this earth.

As I sit looking at Keith’s list of questions, I feel a mixture of emotions take over and I wonder when my someday comes if I’ll still feel as worthless and hopelessly lost as I do now. Someday, I’ll have those answers, and my life. Just not right now.

Right now, and for at least the beginning of 2008, the only plan I have is to continue doing what I’m doing and do the best I can for as long as I have left in me. Worthless as that plan may sound, it’s all I know to do.

Have I done what I planned for 2007? Have I accomplished my goal? Yes, I have. Mom is still with us. I guess I can’t think of any better way to start a new year than that.

Whatever 2008 may bring, I’m sure I’ll cope with it as it comes. They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Whatever comes, I wish for strength.

Happy New Year, everyone. I wish you strength, too.