Going, Going . . .

I was going to label this post under the tag of ‘on being nuts’ but then decided to use ‘caregiving’ instead. Caregiving is such a funny word. We take it at face value. We give care. But one can’t give care if one doesn’t also take care. It’s a two layered job. Not only do we give care to others but we must also take care of ourselves. Or we will lose the ability to care. Period.

This past week I’ve been fractured in mind. No measurable attention span for any one subject. Even writing this is difficult. I have to keep pulling myself back to it. Like most things I attempt to do right now.

Why?

Because Mom is losing ground again.  Faster too. I suppose it’s like that rock rolling downhill— just keeps picking up speed. And while there’s still enough of the Mom that makes her Mom, there’s more smoke than fire now and there’s nothing I can do to stop this disintegration of body and mind. Not that I ever thought I could. But .  .  .

This living in a house where death is beginning to drape itself like a misery garland is pulling. It feels like my brain is yanking out hunks of unrelated emotion and tossing them here, there, and everywhere. Kinda’ like goofy sad-coloured confetti. This state of fractured mind is slippery too.  Sometimes I’m not even aware it’s happening until my husband hands me the truck keys and tells me take off. (Guilt always puts the foot to the brake before I get too far.)

And sometimes all I can do is stop and remember to breathe in one big honking breath after another, letting it fill my lungs and clear some of the smarmy fog of death out of my own cells.

So I breathe; in-out, in-out. Pull calm in, let tension out; suck peace in, push stress out.

Or I stretch my body just so I can feel the life inside me.  Or I take five minutes and step outside. I drift into the life happening there.  Funny how five minutes of being still and silent can feel as satisfying as a thirty minute nap.

Sometimes that’s all you have room to do—breathe deep and refill the well.

Take care — because you have to. . .

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