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.

The Day I Almost Lost It

That would be today.

I dragged my two year old outside and let her scream on the front porch for about five minutes. This was after she refused to nap, dumped all of the clothes out of her drawers, scattered her jewelry, bit me (twice), and just got on my very last fucking nerve. And I was tempted to shut the door in her face, but then one of my curious neighbors walked up...

I am not feeling well. I didn't feel well last night. I told the Hub to go to work because instead of having him cater to the Toddlersaurus all day as if she is the sick one, I figured I could do just fine by myself. And that is why God is laughing at me...

Now she's sitting on the potty that she only uses as a stool or as a prop for her toys. That is also a sore spot for me, since I've been trying this potty training thing for months and we have made absolutely NO PROGRESS AT ALL. I had hoped that as her language continued to develop (another fail), she would begin to tell me when she needed to potty, seeing as how she can sing that stupid song from Daniel Tiger. But singing and making demands is about all she can do, and all I can do is get increasingly more frustrated.

I know that as I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself, playing my whiny solo on the world's smallest violin, whomever stumbles across this post will wonder why I just don't ask for help. Well, yeah shall we analyze my options: (1) my mother...; (2) my father who doesn't remember anything from my childhood except that my mother did all that stuff; (3) my dead grandmothers or mother-in-law; (4) my other family members who have children but don't really talk to me like that; (5) my sisters-in-law who all have grown children; (6) my two friends with children; (7) the Spanish-speaking nannies at the library or play group; or (8) my neighbor whose husband just walked over to check out why she was standing on the porch?

Feel free to pick one out the best option and let me know.

By the way, I once said that this was not going to be a Mommy blog, yet here we go again, right?

PS: We finally fell asleep.

The Politics of Disrespectability

The other day a lot of us imagined that the late Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune rose up from her grave in utter shock and horror during the commencement exercises at the school she founded. The reason for that imagined resurrection is up for debate.

On the one hand, I think she was insulted that her name and legacy had been invoked to justify an invitation extended to Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos, a woman whose credentials for the job of being the nation's school superintendent are, ahem, questionable. On the other hand, it could be argued that her anger was at the students for breaking with decorum. If I had another hand, I would say that she was irate about all of that and then some.

I started tweeting my own rant last week and urged students to walk out of the ceremony. Of course, I have no real followers so that was just my opinion. The official Twitter hashtag urged students to turn their backs on DeVos during the speech, and I guess that could have worked too. But then someone began booing and then the chanting and then things broke down from there. It was a spectacle and an unfortunate avoidable mess.

Part of my outrage over this sparked the campaign I am currently promoting through Busy Black Woman, Just Give. I believe more alumni giving can make our voices heard, even in a room full of tone deaf leaders. For all of the complaining and the anger we express on social media, it will mean nothing if donations to Bethune-Cookman University dry up or remain static. HBCUs should not have to curry favor with every million dollar donor when we have an adequate built-in base of untapped alumni support.

BCUs President and Board probably assumed that by inviting DeVos to speak, they could avail themselves of some federal funding, perhaps in the form of some special pilot grant program or that infrastructure spending that the Trumpet questioned. And I'm thinking that when the invitation was extended, DeVos saw it as an opportunity to reintroduce herself to the HBCU community after her earlier misguided statements and assumed that the students wouldn't really care...after all, aren't most students are drunk at graduation anyway?

Not at an HBCU Graduation! Because Mama and 'nem are there and they got dressed up and they waited 4, 5, 6 or so years for that moment. Folks took off from work to make the trip. Somebody went without so that balance was paid and you were cleared to walk at the last minute. Grandma endured the trip, even though you told her it would be ok if she didn't come, but she insisted because you are her oldest grandchild. Or the youngest. Or somewhere in the middle (no matter). And because HBCUs tend to hold graduations close to Mother's Day, Mama and Grandma and Aunties and that older cousin who is like a sister to you who brought her kids so that they can see you as a role model, they are in that audience beaming with pride, so this is not some corny formality. This is a BIG deal.

And so, despite the fact that Dr. Bethune left us these eloquent words in her famous Last Will and Testament, apparently the powers that be forgot that she had plenty more to say. So on Wednesday morning she rose up from her grave, knowing all of that commotion was about to take place, and she inspired a few of those meme savvy students to release some of her other important words to let the rest of us know why that fuckery was intolerable.

To those of you with your years of service still ahead, the challenge is yours. Stop doubting yourselves. Have the courage to make up your minds and hold your decisions. Refuse to be BOUGH for a nickel, or a million dollars, or a job!

If we accept and acquiesce in the face of discrimination, we accept the responsibility ourselves. We should, therefore, protest openly everything...that smacks of discrimination or slander.

To Miss Betsy, let's be clear that you had a right to speak at the invitation of the University President, Dr. Edison O. Jackson. But he had no right to invite you to be the commencement speaker, and then wait until the 11th hour to announce your selection when it would be too late for the graduates to oppose it. He claimed that he wanted to expose the students to opposing points of view, which might be appropriate when the attendees are current students who are still subject to the school's authority. Commencement is an audience of faculty, alumni, graduates, and families, which means these were not the young impressionable minds that should be compelled to sit through whatever Secretary DeVos had to say. This was not a campus convocation.

And that is why so many HBCU alumni were upset. We have legitimate issues with this Administration and while we can appreciate the assumption that there is a benefit to being exposed to alternative viewpoints, it is not a requirement. Every pronouncement from Trumpelthinskin and Company has been an egregious repudiation of the ideals many of us hold, so why should anyone assume good intentions from Mrs. DeVos' appearance? And why raise the specter of federal funding when we know that is a red herring? Because if she did come in peace, then there would have been no need to shroud her appearance with such mystery.

Thus, the prophetic nature of Dr. Bethune's words and why we must not sell our principles for any price. Bethune-Cookman is a private HBCU, so while it certainly depends on federal funding through student loans and other programs, perhaps it should be made public that DeVos' appearance would ensure the preservation of XYZ so at least folks would know why they were a captive audience at that circus. And knowing that the decision to walk out or turn their backs to the speech would be met with criticism anyway, why not "protest openly" against the slander that somehow we are expected to acquiesce to patronizing contempt and disrespect.

Continue to rise BCU Wildcats and continue to make Dr. Bethune proud!

Get In Formation

This is just a quick public service announcement because I want all HBCU alumni to understand something crucial for future reference: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

I repeat: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

That isn't our cross to bear. So please, before you waste time whining blogging about a high-profile donation to the so-called elite HBCUs, take a step back and do a little research. Recognize that every single one of these institutions needs support, and if every single alumni gave something, anything to his/her own HBCU, it wouldn't matter what the celebrities do.

Because what they do with their money is their damn business. Some of these folk will give that big one-time donation and never give another dime. Or they might give consistently for the rest of their natural lives. Or whatever, but again, it is their money and not ours. Our money is what we earn and how we choose to designate it, so that matters more to our institutions--whether alumni bother to donate.

So again, I repeat (just in case you forgot): WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

And because I really, really care that you get this, I just gave to Talladega College, as I said I would when I wrote this. Because I never want another HBCU to go hat in hand to participate in something that they would rather not, but feel compelled to do so because they need the money.

And that is the same reason why I gave to Bethune-Cookman University today, because for the life of me, I just cannot even form the words to express why the invitation to Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos to be their commencement speaker is just...like seriously, were Omarosa or Ben Carson that busy? (And I'm not signing any petition because I made my feelings clear while making my contribution. Money talks, my friends.)

And to briefly address this gift from Beyonce to Spelman College and Howard University, please save your ire for real nonsense, like the aforementioned invitation to Betsy DeVos from Bethune-Cookman or the participation of Talladega's band at the Abomination in January. Hell, let's debate whether it is too soon for Barack Obama to collect $400,000 for speaking engagements. But let's not spend another minute complaining about how Beyonce should have spent her money; otherwise, we will ensure that the next big gift won't go to any of our schools. No one wants to court controversy for making a GIFT. So just stop.

Finally: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

The Atlanta Riots - Part II

As I was writing the first part of this, I had this strange feeling of deja vu, so I went back to see what I had written in the past about this incident. I could not find it here, then remembered that I had probably written about this experience for the class I taught ten years ago! Although I won't be looking through the crates to see what I wrote then, it was interesting to look back through some of what I wrote here during that time period. Perhaps I need to repost and update a few things to demonstrate how my voice has evolved. Nevertheless, back to my analysis of the Atlanta Riots some 25 years later. 

I confirmed with a friend who graduated that year that my recollection of how the situation ended and quickly returned to what we would call normal was accurate. I went home, started a summer job, and here I am 25 years later trying to understand what we did and how it informs my opinions of what I see in police protests and interactions today.

Rodney King to Mike Brown to Freddie Gray
We were rightfully outraged by the King verdict, which to many of us proved that race almost always colors how people see the same incidents. None of us students felt that King's drug use justified such a savage beating. In hindsight, I still don't, especially as we compare it to the riots that engulfed Baltimore just two years ago or that took place in Ferguson, Missouri months earlier. The names are different, but the results and the finger-pointing are the same--the victims are blamed for escalating police behavior.

As we head into our first summer under the regime of a President who has been overtly supportive of the police tactics that have been practiced in all three of these confrontations, I am worried. It bothers me that when Rodney King was beaten for resisting arrest, we were told that he provoked their response. The same has been said about Mike Brown even though it is unclear if he resisted arrest. And as for Freddie Gray, that situation is so muddled and messy...

But what about those instances when the victim complies and still gets wounded or dies? What about Philando Castille, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland and Tamir Rice? How many more names do we add to that sad roll of inquiry before anyone acknowledges that the power to deescalate a potentially volatile situation resides with the person/people holding the lethal weapons with the power of the state encrusted on their lapels?

Public Protests and Black Lives Matter
I just happened to read another negative reaction to Black Lives Matter (BLM) and as I try not to dismiss that point of view, it occurs in the backdrop of a completely unrelated post a friend wrote about public Confederate monuments. However, in both situations, we are dealing with perspective.

And when I delve into how we perceive race and law enforcement in their historical intersections, then these two matters are not all that distinct. As a BLM supporter, I have never regarded the statement nor the movement as elevating one race over another. It has always been about demanding the humanization of black/brown lives. Similarly, as a person who has absolutely no sympathy for the Confederacy, I cannot regard monuments to the Lost Cause as honorable. Quite frankly, I believe that your revered ancestors died to preserve a system and way of life that did not regard black and brown lives as having any human value. Period.

Yet, when asked to consider the opposite viewpoints--that of law enforcement facing the hostility of an enraged mob or that of a Southerner seeking to reconcile the contradictions of family honor, I get it. Perhaps it is too easy to demonize police actions as overzealous in complicated situations. And maybe it is intellectually lazy to assume that every Confederate was an unrepentant racist. Alternatively, thousands take to the streets to march and protest in support of black/brown victims because we believe they had rights, irrespective of their bad or questionable behavior. If I can see the humanity in my neighbor who is a police officer or of a long-dead Confederate general who sincerely believed in my ancestors' inferiority, then surely you can muster up a modicum of human compassion for the mother whose child was taken from her prematurely under questionable circumstances.

We are all accountable for our actions--victim, oppressor, citizen, undocumented, insurrectionist, civil servant, rich, poor, black, white, President, soldier, civilian, sinner, and saint.

The Atlanta Riots - Part I

I was listening to the radio this morning and the story that caught my attention was a commemoration of the Los Angeles riots 25 years ago. It triggered my memory of the uprising that took place in Atlanta at the same time. This piece is not to compare the events because the country was rightfully riveted by the conflagration of Los Angeles in the aftermath of a very controversial verdict in the trial of the officers charged with beating Rodney King. Even if I could articulate a perspective on what went on in LA, it occurs alongside what I/we experienced in Atlanta and it is through that lens that I offer these thoughts.

It was the end of the semester. The night that the verdict was announced, many of us were at King's Chapel for the Miss Maroon and White pageant, which was to be the final show of the semester before exams. This is the time before smartphones, so the news did not come to us via Twitter. We found out because someone had been watching CNN during a break in the show. While we were waiting for the announcement of the court, someone took to the stage to announce the verdict.

Next I remember a lot of discussion and honestly, I don't recall that we processed the news as being nearly as serious until later on in the dorms. That is when we saw the first news reports of rioting in Los Angeles.

Somehow, we got word that a protest rally would be taking place the next day. Again, this is in the era before the internet or social media, so it was spread via word of mouth, which meant information was all over the place. A few of us decided to attend the protest, and walked out of Spelman's front gate without knowing what to expect.

At this point, I need to insert some commentary about the events that followed, because this is my memory and it is subject to my personal biases. Which may or may not reflect what actually happened to those who were active and visible participants...but it is what I observed, and in some cases, what I experienced. It might not be a flattering recollection either, but I want to emphasize that often in circumstances of chaos, there are not always bright lines of right and wrong.

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.