A new era - 2024 10 20
2024 10 20 - Jenny Notes
838 am
A quiet, raining morning. Adele is curled up on a sheepskin. I have lit the gas fireplace. We have been pelted by an atmospheric river this weekend. Today will be another downpour. No wind right now. Sodden leaves blanket the soaked ground. The sidestreet has been turned into a waterway sloughing off water that has not been collected in overload, clogged storm drains. This is truly my favourite weather.
There is no traffic. If we have a choice, we stay home.
I can feel myself slowly adjusting to this new era of my life, an era where my Mom is no longer in danger, and is no longer a threat to the safety and security of anyone else.
It is a special kind of work to live with a family member disabled by mental illness. I have lived my life to date hobbled by an invisible, disabling post traumatic stress disorder acquired from childhood and early adult, also adult, experiences. I did not have the supports and protections a child, a teen ager, a young adult or even an adult person needs to form a healthy sense of esteem, confidence, inter-personal skill, relationship know-how, and common sense. The timeline of my life, my households and my career is a pinball machine of following the path of least resistance, making lemonade out of lemons, and starting from scratch many times over.
In the background of all the hidden deficiencies, there was an abiding sense of pending doom, that, at any moment, the rug could be pulled out from under me. This sense of dread was tied to my mother’s health and well-being. I could not bear the thought that she should suffer any pain or loneliness, I also could not bear the thought that she might embarass me by unwanted, anti-social exhibitions of schizophrenia-inspired words and deeds. I could not bear the gaze of unknown strangers looking at my mom, and, by association, at me, with puzzlement, fear, judgement, and condemnation.
I have grieved the loss of my mother’s life potential due to the lack of opportunities provided to her through mental health agencies. She survived her mental illness, and for that, I am grateful. So many do not. I believe my mom loved her 6 children so much, she could not hurt us by taking her own life or allowing her mental illness to destroy us. She accepted her fate of living in a mental health group home and taking her medication. She made the best of her life circumstances and enjoyed the life she had.
The sense I make of my life today is how I embody Mom’s spirit in the hours, days and weeks I have to make a difference. For the good of all concerned. Within the constraints of my life circumstances.
To that end, I pick up a graphite stick, a guitar, or read research on family caregiving. I do what I can with what I have to improve the possibilities for my children and grandchildren.
In Mom’s memory, I don’t give up. In Mom’s memory, I carry on.
In the background is the sound of rainwater. Dripping, trickling, splashing, streaming. Mom is gone and it is raining. Life.
Comments
Post a Comment