More Than Enough

I need to write to remind myself of an important point, lest I drift backwards into self-doubt and depression: I am okay. I am doing my best, and on some days, I need to take comfort in the fact that my best is much better than those who do nothing but complain. And I'm giving myself this pep talk because I got flustered one evening last week in a true Charlie Foxtrot moment. By the end of the night, I had let a lot of that anxiety go, but I decided to write about it anyway so that I can have this to reread whenever I want to crawl back into a shell of self-loathing.

I am doing more than enough.

Instead of providing a turn-by-turn account of the events of the evening prior to that moment when I was running back and forth between answering the front door, helping my Mom in the bathroom, and giving my kid a bath...I will simply say there was a lot going on. And I was by myself with my 70 year old mother and my 2 year old daughter. Even if my choices at any given moment are questionable, at the end of the night I can at least say that I did something other than complain.

I hit the wall at the beginning of this year with my emotions, and I know that the stress of my mother's illness has been difficult for everyone. Chronic illness can devastate lives in so many ways. It ruins relationships and it can have reverberations for years. I have been stressed to the breaking point trying to manage caregiving and parenting, so much so that I essentially dropped out of a lot of activities and commitments. I don't lament the need to take such a drastic step, but I have been frustrated that it came to this point.

Attempts to address some of our issues as a family of caregivers unearthed a lot of resentment and unexpressed feelings. It also made things worse...but perhaps the only way to address an issue is to expose its ugliness. I am still open to the possibility of making peace, but I have accepted that it might not happen. Therefore, for anyone else who might be going through a similar situation or who might have to face the unforeseen chaos of chronic illness, here is a quick list of some of what I have learned these past eight years:

1. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. And communication is not just about telling folks your positions or how you feel about the situation. It is also about how you listen. I spent a great deal of time communicating information that was not being processed or that was being ignored, or perhaps most importantly was not what folks wanted to know. I honestly do not have any tips about how to get others to listen, but if folks are not speaking to each other, listening to what is being said, or accepting the truth of what is being expressed, then you will have misunderstandings and chaos.

2. Caregiving is a 24-hour job and it involves everyone in the family. Everyone can contribute and no contribution is too small. However, if there is no contribution then that is a problem. When there is a need for an outside caregiver, it does not absolve anyone else of having to take part. It might diminish certain duties, but family care is still vital.

3. Offering criticism is not the same as offering assistance. As far as I am concerned, it is the same as doing nothing. Opinions are assholes...everybody has one.

4. Most non-immediate family and friends have no idea how to offer help or to even express support. So I don't hold that against them. I actually appreciate the benign gestures of just checking in because it helps to know that folks are thinking about us even when they can't do anything specific.

5. Caregivers often will not ask for help. Although that statement applies specifically to my family, I suspect it is true of most families. The vast majority of the time I will not tell outsiders what is really going on with my Mom, for any number of reasons. Thus, whenever people tell me to let them know if I need anything, I file that away with point #4 in mind. It isn't personal nor is it pride, but it is usually a case of not wanting to include too many people in our inner circle. Too many cooks spoil the broth. However, whenever we do ask for assistance, it is because we truly need something.

6. Caregivers have been thrust into an unexpected scenario, which ultimately becomes a perpetual series of unexpected scenarios. Thus, mistakes are bound to happen, and I have felt guilty about every single one. Yet, I rarely have time to lick my wounds, so yes, I am ultra-sensitive to criticism (#3) especially when I am the person who has to make the hard choices. If you would do the job better, then by all means...

7. Compromise. No caregiving situation is ideal. And when there are several people involved in the process, there are that many opinions and ways of doing things. Each person means well, and choosing not to take every suggestion is not personal--often it is a matter of feasibility. You do not lose if you don't get everything you want, but you get nothing if you walk away.

8. Children should not be shielded from the scenario. I decided that if my daughter was going to  know her only living grandparents, she will know them as they are at every stage of her life. She also needs to be prepared for the future. I was exposed to the illness of my grandparents and had to actively participate in their care, which I believe prepared me for dealing with this very situation. God forbid if my daughter has to care for me or her father, but at the very least she will have had a blueprint.

9. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Not just a song, but a reality, especially when dealing with your adult siblings, your even older parents and their siblings, and the outside paid caregivers. All of your family dynamics will be impacted by the illness, and all of your family issues will resurface as well. Respect is making the choice to put the needs of others above your need to be right.

10. Caregivers need support. We need friends. We need family. We need breaks. We need someone to recognize when the situation has gotten too overwhelming and we're in too deep to notice. We need someone to make that benign statement about showing up whenever needed and actually doing so without being asked. We need someone else to remind us that we have to live as well because the last thing anyone needs is an additional chronic illness to manage.

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

No More!

It has been a minute and I am here to vent. Lots of new developments in my life, including a new baby...except, it is not my baby. It belongs to a younger family member. And thus, another child enters the world as a statistic.

(In my best Florida Evans impression--I am screaming Dayum, Dayum DAYUM as an imaginary punch bowl smashes at my feet.)

I am fine with the fact of this new addition because babies are blessings. As a married woman with no children of my own, I KNOW that babies are blessings, so my disappointment (disgruntlement, envy, whatever you want to label it) is with the circumstances.

But dang-nabit, I followed the rules. I went to school and stayed out of trouble. I met a nice man and together we built a decent life. I've never done drugs and I was once a deaconess in the church. Yes, I am having a Job moment...but this isn't really about me. This is my rant on what has become the status quo within the black community.

White children have parents. Latinos and Asians have families. Black children are bargaining chips and future reality show participants.

Sure children are born out of wedlock across the ethnic spectrum. And sometimes things don't work out, and families break up. Life happens. But when I read articles about how celebrity baby mamas have to get along or how a certain celebrity baby daddy is demanding a paternity test, I just shake my head. When did this isht become the norm? Whatever happened to shame?

No, your child isn't the reason why you should be ashamed--your behavior is. You should hold your head in shame when you learn that you've been knocked up by a man who already has children by other women. You should hold your head in shame when you become a father after a casual sexual encounter with a woman whose name you barely remember. You should be ashamed when you realize that you could have been exposed to any number of sexually transmitted diseases. You ought to be ashamed that you had to lug your newborn infant to court in order to establish custody, child support and a visitation schedule. You ought to be too ashamed to show your face in public if your paternity was confirmed on national television by Maury Povich.

Yet, the only people who seemed to have any shame are those of us without the drama. Like my single unmarried, childless girlfriends whose lives have now become the subject of countless articles lamenting their inability to find suitable mates. Or the childless married couples who are emotionally and financially extorted into paying for the right to become parents while every other fertile Myrtle pops children out like rabbits. Was it some cosmic joke that the responsible folks ended up with the short end of the stick?

Frankly, I am at a loss for words although certain apocalyptic terms seem applicable--epidemic, catastrophic, and damned come to mind. Is there a such thing as a normal black family anymore (or was the Cosby Show really fiction)? Has no one heard about the permanent damage inflicted by the absence of black fathers and/or positive male role models? And what about the example set by black single mothers whose poor choices contribute to this perpetual cycle of broken families? Is it just a terrible coincidence that family dysfunction is passed on to future generations just like genetic disorders?

Children deserve to come into the world with as little baggage as possible since it is through living that we acquire all of the stuff that comes to characterize who we are and how the world perceives us. It used to be that racism hampered our kids' ability to get a decent start in life as skin color was regarded as an uncompromising liability. But nowadays we load our children down with duffle bags of drama so by the time they reach kindergarten, it is no wonder that so many of them have already given up.

I am disillusioned because I guess I assumed that in the Age of Obama, folks might be inspired by their example of a loving black family and mimic those values for a change. Guess not...but I can still HOPE.