This month marks 2 years and four months that I have been caring for my aging parents. It all started so innocently. My intention was to help them. This help began in the form of cohabiting with them so that I could see to the daily tasks that are needed to run a household. I would take over the cleaning and cooking.
My thought was that I could continue to work full time and just handle the important household details, like I did when I was a mother and wife.
It was easy at first. We hired a caregiver. With room and board she charged us $900 per month. She only lasted for two months. My stepfather was spending money like a senile maniac and was not able to maintain her salary. I continued to work but the routine was increased by having to accompany them to the doctor. They had a doctor’s appointment just about every week.
My mother had a major stroke so she had to see a neurologist and a psychiatrist for her Alzheimer’s. He had prostate cancer so he had to see a urologist every three months. They both had to see their primary care every month until I could get my mother’s numbers right. Her sugar and thyroid were out of control due to their inability to manage medications anymore. In order to manage their numbers and medication, I had to be present so the doctor could talk to someone who knew what the hell was going on.
I went from working 5 days a week to not working at all. Last February my stepfather fell and broke his hip. He hasn’t walked since. I haven’t worked since February. I haven’t slept in my bed since February. I can count on one hand the nights that I have slept eight hours straight since then. I believe that sleep deprivation is a torture method.
The loneliness is almost unbearable. I don’t entertain anymore. I don’t go anywhere except shopping for food and supplies.
There are days that I think that I will just loose my own mind. That is when I must ask myself what I was thinking.
As I break it down in my mind and separate all the components that brought me here I can see the scattered ideas that I had for everyone, including myself.
Over the years I thought that I had learned the power of intention. I could have sworn that I had been using it to bring about the outcome that I wanted.
Somewhere along the way, as my mind cluttered with the problem rather than the solution, my clear ideas became out numbered by the foggy ones.
So now as I sit here exhausted, drained and empty headed I can see at this point I have only one answer.
I have to return to the task of keeping in mind exactly what I want.