One of the hardest parts about facing a challenge is not to allow the challenge to become you. It's hard not to be so overwhelmed that the problem becomes the fabric of everyday. I don't have a handle on this, and never have. When my dad was sick with lung cancer twenty years ago, he was in the hospital for six weeks. That was from initial diagnosis to his passing away. And it wasn't the cancer that got him, but a blood clot. I realize the clot came about because of the cancer treatment, but did the cancer directly kill him? Not really.
I remember, though, that his illness colored every day that spring. I was expecting our fifth child, and unfortunately the last conversation I had with my dad at their house was concerning that baby. I'd gone over to tell them both about the pregnancy and he thought we were irresponsible (which we might have been), and I regret that anger colored that last visit before he began to feel sick. You can see how a daughter would take on responsibility for a parent's sickness when they show symptoms after a blow-up. Least I did. Nevermind he smoked for 50 years. I still felt to blame.
Like now.
This year has been one of estrangement from my mom, but not one I put into place. I don't know what my mom has shared with other members of the family or friends concerning me, but being the overly-sensitive type (a sometimes curse) I can feel their frustration with me. I'm the absentee daughter. I abandoned my mom. I drove her to this stroke.
But her untreated high blood pressure has been part of her life for decades. The build-up of plaque in her carotid artery occurred for many reasons, none to do with me, and a lot to do with her diet and blood pressure.
I feel guilty for something I didn't cause, and it's still driving me nuts. And I'm not asking for anything by saying all of this---I've just got to get it down. To see my mom today in a wheelchair struggling to talk, choking on her pureed food and still able to laugh at silly things breaks my heart. I so hate this. I hate it so much I can't even put it into words.
And the hardest part is to live my life apart from what my mom's going through. To be a wife and mother who listens to her husband, comforts her children, feeds the chickens, dusts the furniture, teaches Algebra, bakes a pie, buys groceries, wipes up a spill and simply performs the tasks that put our house to rights. To do those things with joy and not the shadow of sadness is harder than I ever would've anticipated. But I can, and I will. But I'd really rather do them without the shadow. Really. Maybe that will come as she improves. Sure hope so.
