i'm about at the end of my tether. tapped out. at my wit's end. i'm burnt to a crisp. this pandemic thing—which didn't have to be as bad as it is, with over 400,000 americans dead—is doing me in. and i know i am not the only one. having said that—and before i continue—i must express my gratitude and acknowledge my privilege that my husband still has a paying job, we're comfortable and well fed, and none of our friends or family members, even the ones who got covid, are dead.
still, time spent with my son while he's been home from school since last march has been a struggle, especially of late, probably because of winter and because the stress is cumulative; nearly seventeen years of spoon-feeding and changing diapers and pulling up his covers in the middle of the night can get to a person, not to mention his seizures and behaviors associated with the antiepileptic drugs he takes. days are mind-numbingly monotonous. the weather doesn't always cooperate for our walks outside in the garden and back meadow. he's so demanding, intense and gropey, if that is even a word. sometimes he shrieks and grouses and cackles so much i want to scream. all too often i give in to the emotion.
i continue to wonder how the hell i am going to do this for the rest of my life, while at the same time cringing at the notion of strangers taking care of him, what with the high turnover in most group homes. neither seems like a good solution. both give me pause, thinking of a way out of this conundrum.
i sometimes find myself dreaming of being childless and single, able to do whatever i please and go wherever i want to go whenever i want to. i know i am not alone. i think of my mother and wonder how she cooked and cleaned and shopped and laundered for six kids and my father. herculean, really. but we're all doing it in some form or other during this pandemic.
I could not have done what you're doing right now. I was done by the time Katie was fifteen. I thought about driving into a semi truck, the two of us on the highway. I saw no way out and I couldn't take it anymore.ReplyDelete
Not all group homes are awful. We finally found one where Katie is very well cared for and even loved by her staff. Not all agencies are created equal but there are good ones out there. And it's not because you don't love your son but because you can't do it all. You are not superhuman, you are human. But most of all, you are tired. We don't know each other but I'm sending hugs.
thank you lily. your words mean a lot to me.Delete
Heart pounding hugs is all I can think to send...and on top of this you are still writing each day. Hurculean is an understatement. Your freedom will come, there is a solution, and when it does, no one will be more poised to feel its full force than you.ReplyDelete
Sending love and hugs from lockdown Devon.ReplyDelete
dear Ian, It always feels so good to hear from you, to know you are out there listening. sending love and hugs back to you and hoping the lockdown is not too hard on your and your family. xoxoDelete
The thoughts in my head are so similar seventeen years in. I am so sorry this has become your life. I often think of what may otherwise has held: healthy kids, a hubby who stayed, a career not ended abruptly, smiles, and then I try not to think because it no longer matters, it is too late two decades in . I hope Spring brings you at least nicer weather to “ escape” to. AndieDelete
I'm not doing so well, either -- for some of the same reasons, and some are different. Even with a lot of "help" in the caregiving, the enormity of it hits me more often than not these days. The relentlessness of it -- knowing that it won't stop until one of us is dead. And then there's that. I appreciate your honestly and raw words. I'm sending you so much love and understanding. I wish we could scream together.ReplyDelete
dear E, sorry to hear. I do believe we are screaming together! haha! sending you love too. xoxoDelete