Last night was their turn to take care of me, but this morning is my turn to take care of them. It was just another example of one of those times when getting off the couch was too damn difficult, so we tried to make it into some “camping” trip. Marshmallows by candlestick, hot chocolate sitting in cups, and blankets pulled over us as the nights in Massachusetts are starting to reflect the season’s change.
As the night drew on, it became clear I wasn’t going to make it to my bed. It happens to everyone at some point. Crashed out on the sofa because you worked on some project and just collapse in the most convenient place. I’d like to say it was a reminder of basketball camp where I’d spend 7 hours learning some new tricks and rush home to play against my friends, only to fall asleep as soon as the dinner dishes were cleared. But this time it’s just different.
“Hey, are you sure you don’t need a little help getting to the bathroom before you call it an evening?”
“Uncle Lary, I put the pills on the table next to you. Did I forget anything?”
Simple, kind, heartbreaking statements reminding me that at times I can’t do some daily tasks without help. Without someone double checking that I am alright.
I forced myself into the kitchen so they could continue to sleep. I know they stayed up later than they should and were doing the equivalent of sticking a mirror under my nose. Sometimes they feel helpless too! But seeing the blankets stretched around them, pulled tightly up to their chins my mind is trapped in memories of the past and concerns about the future.
Sunday mornings used to be about me sneaking out of bed and going for a run. Offering to make anything she wanted for breakfast by the time I was done my thing. It was the one time during the week that I could “baby” someone without time or people getting in the way. Times change…
Today, I’m trying to just get some pancakes ready without making too much noise. But if I ducked in the room I’m sure that people have stirred and are just trying t o help by letting me make an effort. Any effort to be normal, feel normal. So I quietly have laid out some bacon on a sheet to bake. I’m not eating it, but the smell sure does mkae me want to give up the veggie lifestyle!
Yesterday I felt like a failure, some from writing and some of it came from just not being able to do the things I want to do. Knowing tomorrow I have to be able to move around, get from place to place means that today I will continue my quest for the most comfortable position the couch has to offer. Watch a football game and enjoy the sounds of life swirling around me.
Sunday’s are different now. There neither better or worse. No, I think they are worse but that’s because my mind needs to find a comfortable place to be. Holding onto the past is better than contemplating the future where Sunday’s are fewer than they were last week or last month. But holds true for everyone.
I promise that I am doing everything I can to fight. Fight the depression, fight the cancer, fight the urge to just say “Screw it!” Sometimes they win but sometimes I am able to hold my ground and not fall backward. It may not by progress, but it surely isn’t losing any more ground.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “When Childhood Ends.”