Onward to 2017

     There have been a lot, like a metric ass load aka shit ton, of changes in my life in the last 7 months of 2016. I'm not even sure where to really begin. I'll attempt to keep it chronological, that is until my fibro fog kicks in and I jump all over the place.

April 2016- My dad tells me its time for him to come home to WI. I am stoked to hear this and W and I find a duplex that we can rent both sides of. We will all move in Jun 1st.

May 2016- I fly out to Denver to help dad pack before he and I fly to Germany for my amazing niece's wedding. The wedding was gorgeous, the food scrumptious and the visit with family nice. I adore my niece's husband- they make a great pair! She made a stunning bride, still makes me cry when I look at the pictures. Where or where did the time go? I am beyond proud of her for all her accomplishments and in awe of the woman she has become.

While I was out of the country and then moving dad home to WI, W was busy moving us into our side of the duplex. He had finished school for the semester and then together we decided he would stop going to school and start working full time. When I got back to WI on June 4th he'd already had a great job for a week.

Two days later our boy arrived from Texas. It was so good to have him with us. I had been missing him a lot. Thanks to the move, we didn't have the money to go do all the things we had planned but we did go fishing (I'm the only one who caught something) and with W working different shifts every week, our boy and I had time to talk. He's got a brilliant mind, a sarcastic mouth and great comedic timing. He will always be my dork, my son.

At the end of June,W's mom was diagnosed with cancer. This hit my guys hard and I did my best to be there for them. Mid July our boy flew back to Texas. While he was with us those last few weeks, I had a panic attack at the fireworks. Full blown freak out, running away from the fireworks and my family. My dad had to tell W to follow me. Then a week later I was in public restroom at a park and the lights went off. I found out later it was because I hadn't moved enough. I freaked out. I texted both W and our boy and they thought I was joking. No matter what I said they told me it was hilarious to them. Finally a woman came in and the light came on. I got out of there quickly while sobbing. When I found the guys, I told each of the they were assholes and told W to get me home. W was pissed. I was having a full on meltdown and he was pissed because I called them assholes for not helping me. When we got home W went inside first and the dogs took to barking. He kicked the crate that held the two little dogs excessively hard and I slapped him on the arm hard. I told him to never kick my dogs crate again. He screamed at me to never lay a hand on him again and stormed off to the basement. I went into my bedroom while our boy let the 3 dogs out. Our boy came and apologized for not understanding, I accepted his apology. I took my anxiety med and laid down with the dogs as I bawled. About an hour later W came up and asked if I had anything to say to him. I told him I was't apologizing and he stormed off. I got up and followed him and read him the riot act. We'd never fought like this fight, I lost my shit finally. We screamed at each other for an hour. In that hour somehow he had me apologizing for calling him an asshole and for not understanding his anger was at himself for failing me. He flipped it all back on me. I still can't believe I let that happen.

After our boy left, everything between W and I wasn't right. I didn't know it then, but he was resenting me for having fibro, for making him quit school and for making him take a job he didn't want. He wasn't talking to me about it, and the resentment was building up in him causing him to become very short tempered. I didn't know I was the cause, I just knew something was bothering him and I assumed it was the news about his mom. At the beginning of August W and I drove down to Texas and spent a month there to be with his mom and dad. Momma was doing better than we'd expected and it gave us hope that she'd beat the cancer. Now while we were there we rented a camper. Put two adults and 3 dogs in a camper in the heat of August and W's patience was thin and his temper boiling just under the surface all the time, and you have the makings of a crime scene.

I had never spent much time with W's dad, this visit was an eye opener. The two of them are a lot alike. Momma and I got to have one on one time and just talk. I learnt a lot from her in those 4 weeks. She opened my eyes to things and saved me.

What did I need saving from? W.

His temper was flaring more and more, I never knew what would set him off. I fell off his aunt's deck and tore the ligaments on the side of my left foot. I told him it was hurting more than I thought it should two days after my fall and that I wanted him to take me to the Urgent Care clinic. He told me there was nothing wrong and that I'd just have to give it a few days. I hobbled away from him in tears. As I got ready to take my nap he came into the bedroom and brought the dogs with- Stella, a 73 lb rottweiler, Trinity, a 13 lb chihuahua wiener dog mix, last but not least Dave, a 5 lb toy fox terrier. The 3 of them napped with me every day. Dave walked across my ankle and I howled in pain, much to W's dismay. That's when he actually looked at my foot and deemed it necessary to see a doctor. I didn't realize it then, but W needed to be in control of the decision. He told the nurse and the doctor I hadn't wanted to come in but he thought it was best. I was in so much pain, I didn't even try to insert the truth.

When we left the clinic I was in a walking boot and on crutches. When we got back to the camper, he got mad at me for trying to do things on my own which had me in tears again. Every day I was trying to do anything I could so that he'd stop snipping at me. Ten days later, back to the doctor for a recheck and I was ordered to keep the boot on and stay off it. I ended up wearing it till the middle of September, stupid torn ligament, because the stay off of it is hard as hell when you're trying to keep the peace.

There was one night in the camper that I was ready to leave at the camper and go to my bff's home just an hour away. W's anger at everything was starting to overwhelm me and drove my anxiety up higher than normal. I kept trying to make things right, taking on more of the dog duties, making sure he got time alone with his mom and his dad. I finally asked to go for a car ride so we could talk without anyone interrupting us. Only I didn't bring up the way my anxiety was up, I brought up how I noticed he seemed to be angry every day and asked what was going on. I asked if he needed to talk about his mom. He said that wasn't it. I talked with him about what I was seeing and that his anger was be coming a real issue for me. I was even bold enough to speak about the warning his mom gave me. He seemed to accept my opinion and promised he'd do better. He did try and it was better for our last two weeks in Texas.

By the time we got home the weekend after Labor Day, things were turning south again. Stella got lose a few times, and ran from W every time he got close to her. He was a bundle of anger and she feared W. When he caught her he'd be so furious he'd tell me to get rid of her. Now when she'd get lose on me, I'd call out that we were going to the dog park and she'd make a beeline for the open van door. Yes it was frustrating for me, however losing my temper didn't help. I did all I could to train her to come to me when I called. Stella was supposed to be his dog and he'd made promises to train her, which never happened. I didn't see that she'd always feared him until after.

Thanks to downtime at his job, he was laid off for 3 weeks at the end of September and into October. He spent most of his waking hours playing video games downstairs. If he was up by me it was tense at best. I couldn't say anything right, the dogs couldn't play with each other when he was in the same room. We made a list of things to get done while he was off, nothing overwhelming, just some honey do's. He accomplished a lot of them and I thanked him profusely. His response was to go back downstairs to his video games. I spent my days walking on egg shells, my dad told me he feared for my safety 24 hours a day because he didn't like how W was acting towards me. When I brought my fear up to him, he said "Why does everyone say that? I've never hit a woman." I pointed out he'd punched walls before and that I didn't want to live in fear of him. He told me he kicked a wall and that there was no reason to fear him. I was crying because he wasn't getting it and that made him storm back down to the basement. He told me the next day he didn't see what I was talking about but he'd try not to take it out on me.

On October 17th W went back to work. That same day I had lunch with Scar. I was honest with her and told her what my new therapist had said. She was able to finally tell me all the things she'd been seeing and feeling. Come to find out she was worried about W's temper towards me also. That lunch was the push I needed to stand up for myself. The next morning when W came home from working third shift, I told him we needed to talk. He asked if it was good or bad. I said "Bad."

I told him I no longer could live in fear and that we were through. I told him I'd move in with my dad while he lived on our side. "Is there a chance to win you back?"

"Not at this time," tears streaming down my face.

"I'll leave today. I can't live next door to you and not have a chance of being with you." tears streaming down his face.

Less than 2 hours after he got home from work he had the van packed and he was leaving. I cried a lot that Tuesday. I never expected him to leave so quickly. He had told me he was sorry he'd failed me and that I'd always be the one that got away.

We didn't talk for a few days other than for him to say he was safe at his destination. A week or so later, we were texting and calling each other. He finally admitted that he resented me for no being able to pick up his slack. He said he didn't know who he was and that he needed time away from everyone so he could find himself. When he told me he resented me for making him quit school and my health conditions, I lost it. I wrote him a long text telling he could "own his choices all he wanted." and that "you knew about my health before we got back together. You told me you'd take care of me." And I unloaded my anger at him for abusing me emotionally and mentally.  His response, "I own that I said those things. I own that I made my choices. I'm sorry I made you a part of it. I'm glad you're able to express your feelings and anger, you need to talk to your therapist about everything and how you need to own it and your choices."

Y'all that was the last straw. I had thought maybe in a year we could try again, but not after that. He turned it all back on me. In another text he turned my illness back on me as if I one day simply chose to live in chronic pain, need a pacemaker, have anxiety issues and depression. I saw in those responses that he would never accept my illness was real and that I would never be the girl he keeps on a pedestal, the "one that got away."

Now if we text, it's about a bill. And as soon as that contract is up our ties will be permanently cut. I will stay in contact with Momma and our boy, and a few other family members that want to stay connected.

I've cried over him, over the dream of us, over the pain he caused when he left so quickly leaving me with bills but no money. I've hated him for leaving so much crap behind that I have to take care of. Well his crap is going down in the basement for now. I don't have the energy or time to deal with it all right now. I grieved over losing my twin flame, however I know that twin flames don't always stay together. In our case, I am better off with him out of my life. I have accepted that we had some great times and many laughs but the don't outweigh the problems.

Now that it is 2017, I'm leaving it and him behind because I have much more important things to concentrate on....

1. I start online classes for my Master's Degree in Liberal Arts on January 9th.... through John Hopkins. Yeah that John Hopkins. I'm smarter than I give myself credit for.

2. I've become a thirty-one independent consultant. I'm addicted to their stuff so I decided I'd try selling it. I've not done well these first three months, but am refocusing on it to see if I can make a go of it.

3. My Dad needs me more now that he's been diagnosed with glaucoma and cataracts. I am having to drive him 90% of the places he goes. While I'm glad to do it, I've still got extreme anxiety over driving and will not drive after dark if I can prevent it in any way possible. I am learning to hide my anxiety from him better. It's the "fake it to make it" mindset. Whenever we get back home, I usually go straight to bed and shake for awhile as Dave and Trinity snuggle me.

4. I have a home to make. W's decorating style was not mine and I can finally set my house up as I want it. Butterfly decor where ever I want it, a retro bathroom thanks to the avocado green tiles that were put in there in the 80's, a kitchen decorated with teapots, a relaxing beautiful bedroom and an office that will inspire me to kick ass. I'm taking back my house and making it MY home.

5. Refocusing on personal relationships. I've set a goal to call two friends a week. Texting is for quick conversations. Getting together for coffee or game night at my house once a month is on the goal list.

And last but not least, I'm going to blog twice a month and post at least two times a week on my Facebook page. The name is currently, "Living the Dream I always wanted." After Jan 8th, it will be "Coffee, Butterflies & Me".

Slowly I'm becoming the woman I know is inside me. I accept that I'll still have shit-tastic days where getting out of bed is a challenge. I may not hit all my goals in the first three months of this year thanks to getting back in the swing of being a student, and that's okay. I'm done feeling guilty about saying "No" to activities when my week is too full. I'm through feeling I'm less of a person because I have a chronic illness. 2017 will be about me making it my best year yet!

Hi... it's me... again

Hi.... Remember me? The one who shared all the ups and downs of life? And then just STOPPED.

Sorry about that. 2015 was jammed packed with changes and some I rolled with and others, well grief is never over.

I honestly don't remember where I left off so I'm going to do a quick 2015 recap....

Jan 15- My mom entered end of life hospice in our home. She lost 25 pounds in two months and was not "with" us more and more. She had me as a friend, but her daughter was a spoiled self-absorbed twit. Her husband was her constant and she missed him deeply when he was at work- to the point of tears at least twice a day.

Jan 29- Mom turned 71, we didn't make it a big thing as she was slipping away already.

Jan 31- Mom was taken to a hospice care center so I could get some respite time. It was a very nice care center and the staff were amazing. Dad and I visited when we could.

Feb 6 at 8:30 am-  Mom went home to Heaven with Tony as her guide. Dad and I were with her and held her hand as we cried and wished her well on the next journey. Prior to her death by a month or so, she told me that she "wasn't going to live much past 71". She told me this on numerous occasions before she started slipping away and talking much less. I guess she just knew when she'd be headed home.

March- A visit from my daughter from another mother was a much needed distraction after mom's passing. Hugging her and simply being with her was splendid. I often wish she was mine all the time as she is a true delight to have around. She's the daughter I have always longed for.

April- The school system we had our son in continued to drag their feet to get him the help he needed and deserved. After months of not them doing anything about him failing all his classes, we made the difficult decision to move him back to Texas with his mom and step-dad. I miss him every day. He is a life force that can not be denied. His comedic timing is just about perfect and his hugs, though few and far between, gave my soul the boost it needed.
Also, we (dad, W and I) went home to WI for a visit. W fell in love with my home state quickly and we decided with mom no longer needing me, it was time to come home permanently . We tried to talk Dad in to coming with us, but he refused and kept working.

May- Purging all of the things... and I mean ALL. I never knew how much junk we had until I started going through all the boxes and totes. I found old coupons from 1992, new towels that had tags still, music boxes and trinkets that mom had packed up in 2006 and never unpacked, at least three complete sets of cutlery that didn't include the two we were using, random notes mom made over the years, pictures- totes full, clothes that went out of style in the late 90's, stuff that I had packed up after Tony died and I couldn't bare to give away at the time and copious amounts of paperwork from mom's days of being a paraprofessional at the middle school in the early 90's (seriously I found detention slips for most all of my friends in the mix). Weekly van loads of donations were made to the local charity run thrift store, a few sales happened, a boatload of items were put on the curb for free and yet somehow we still ended up moving a shit ton (also known as a metric ass load) of totes and boxes to dad's new place as well as with us to WI.

June- Moved Dad in to his apartment. Packing sucks and I am rarely done with it when it comes time to actually move. Thankfully dad's apartment was only a few minutes drive from the house we were renting. W and I got him 90% unpacked and set up before we left town on the 30th. It was a heart breaking goodbye to have to say. I am and always will be Daddy's girl. I cried for the first 30 minutes of our drive. Yep we drove the moving truck to WI- well W did and I followed in my minivan which was loaded with TV's, guitars and essentials (toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates and plastic silverware) for starting out at the apartment.

July 1- W and I moved into our apartment in my home town. We have my family here, but I miss dad. Thankfully we hired two guys to unpack the 24' truck as our apartment is on the 2nd floor and there was no way I was helping W carry up all that stuff. I would've become a unicorn faster than I was willing to even entertain the idea of unpacking the truck by ourselves.

August 15- Dad came home to lay Mom and Tony (finally) to rest at the cemetery. The grave plot  is next to mom's beloved Aunt Mamie and I was able to choose a beautiful bench as the marker- I can go out and visit them anytime and have a place to sit. I thought I'd cry hardest over putting Tony in the grave, but it was Mom that had me breaking down as if she'd just passed a few days prior. I wrote both of them a letter and put it in the grave with their urns. In the letter to mom, I not only forgave her but filled her in on a few things I'd kept from her. By forgiving her I let go of resentment, guilt and hatred that was no longer needed in my life.

September- W started attending one of the UW branches to get his art degree. He's an amazing artist, his brain processes items and ideas so beautifully that he can bring them to life on paper. His final piece of artwork in his 2D drawing course was to paint a self-portrait. I may be biased, but it's the fascinating painting. I have to say, it's quite magnificent to know him. While W is at school, I got time to myself. I finally realized how bad my anxiety was becoming and how it was changing the way I live. I couldn't even drive myself anywhere without having a complete meltdown, it wasn't pretty y'all!
Oh I turned 39 on the 16th- which I think I may just stay at from now on.

October- W worked for a local haunted house. He loved it. He will be out there every fall from now on. He has a flare for the scare.
This month brought the start of changing meds... up the dosage, down this dosage, change this pill, try this one. The nightmare continues today.
I went to CO to visit Dad over Halloween. I enjoyed being out by him and sucking up some serious sun while he was at work. It was horrible to leave him after my week was up.

November- Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas season for me. W and I had Chinese food delivered and had a lazy day. I was struggling to get in the holiday mood.

December- I didn't decorate one iota. That was a HUGE mistake. I couldn't fake the holiday joy. Those close to me saw it and tried to rescue me. I couldn't bring myself to send out a single card or package- which was highly unusual for me! I got distressed over simply thinking about going through all of mom's Christmas decorations. Our annual family party was nice, I got to spend time with those I love and to see a niece I haven't seen or spoken with since I moved to CO. I faked it to make it. Christmas day we got together with Scar and her family for a few hours. I was in pain- physically but mostly emotionally. I wasn't dealing well with not having Dad home for Christmas. In my 39 years this was the first one we weren't together. It broke my heart.

New Years Eve- we hung with Scar and family for an overnight gaming party. Scar and I made it till about 12:30. Scar's hubs and W made it until about 8 am. We played Apples to Apples, ate, played video games, ate, colored, ate, giggled and talked. I did mention we ate, right? Scar is a phenom in the kitchen so there was no end to the delicious treats. It was a great way to bring in the New Year.

Jan 1, 2016- Tony's 43rd Birthday. I cried a bit, but mostly just missed him. I was tired from the festivities the night before which probably helped me not get lost in the grief again.

Jan 7- Belle my 10-11 year old pug mix went to play with mom and Tony. Her age caught up to her and I had to do what was best for her. It was devastating to face, but I held her the entire time and felt mom come take her. That feeling is what kept me from being overwhelmed with grief for her loss; knowing she's with grandma who loved her as much, if not more, gives me a peace I need.

Jan 11- Our furnace broke over night and the apt staff had it fixed by 11 am. Other than being a little chilly (55 degrees inside) it wasn't as awful as it could have been. W and I built a fort. It's MY fort. I have books, a chair, the cat's chair, my woobie (afghan my mom made for me in 1995 for my freshman year in college), my topiary which I display ornaments that friends have sent me on, pictures of my pups through the years, drawings from my favorite artist J (he's 5 and too cool) and other mementos of this life I live. My fort is where I can go to read, chill and just be when I need to. Yep I'm 39 and have an awesome blanket fort, don't hate me, too much.

Jan 18- Roxie became ours. Thanks to perfect timing, we were able to adopt her from a family that no longer could keep her due to allergies. Roxie is 4 year old Pembroke corgi. She is adorable, stubborn, laid back, silly and makes me get outside for a 3/4 mile walk twice a day. I had just gotten in to the routine with Belle when she passed. I felt myself slipping back into the couch potato I didn't want to be. Rox has attributes from all of my past pups so I know that Belle sent her to me. And who doesn't smile watching a corgi walk in front of them? For me it's the adorable way her butt tries to catch up to her head that has me giggling.

Today, Jan 24- W is sleeping (well not any longer as I'm on my third edit) and I'm trying to get out all the words running laps in my head. I am nauseous and in pain, higher than my preferred 4 on the scale. The nausea is a new side effect that I'm trying to determine if it's caused by the new meds or the lack of a dose of an old med or simply the cheese curds I ate on Friday. It all started Friday evening and I've been trying my best to fight back and not let it sideline me. Last night was the worst and I ended up missing a ladies game night at my aunt's house. I had been looking forward to it for weeks. I wanted to be there to see my aunts, cousins and friends of the family. We hadn't had a game night in months and I missed it. There will be others, but missing last night sucks. Once again my brain and body aren't on the same page and it royally pisses me off. Scar understands because she knows how it goes and doesn't make me feel guilty for not being up to activities. However, I look at how hard she works to fight through her pain and discomfort to make sure she is at planned events, and I feel like a slug. She has three kids, a husband with a chronic illness and goes to college full time- she doesn't cancel if she can help it. She inspires me on one hand and on the other has me feeling like a slug. All because I do end up cancelling more often since it takes too much out of me to fight my body. I don't have a child living with us that demands me to fight through for his sake. I don't have classes to attend to make me push when I shouldn't. I can't work  per dr's orders, so pushing through when I shouldn't isn't required of me on a daily basis. If any of those things were different, I'd be pushing myself so hard that I'd end up worse off. I cope with my pain in one of three ways- I read, I play Candy Crush and those type of games to give me something else to focus on or I sleep. With all the damn med changes I'm being tortured with, sleep is my best ally. I get up at 5-ish every morning, nap at 1-ish for 2-3 hours and am in bed and out like a light by 9:30-10 pm. Some days it's later on the get up, longer on the nap. Did you add that up? I sleep, on average, a minimum of 10 hours a day. If I don't, my pain goes higher, which makes sleep harder, which makes the pain stronger, which makes sleep damn near impossible. It is a unending cycle that I'm trying not to keep falling into. It's frustrating and depressing and it's the hardest to fight through. I'm making changes to my daily routine, small steps to enable the best of me to be available at the right times. Night activities are almost impossible for me to handle as I've used up all my energy and drive by 6 pm. I'm a morning person, always have been. If we could do game night at 10 am I'd be there. To demand that everyone change their schedule to accommodate me is not only presumptuous and conceited, it's plain unreasonable. Instead, I will miss game nights and school performances that I desperately want to attend because my body can't manage it. Those nights that I am up to the fight, I'll be there. I pray my friends and family will remain understanding and be just as ecstatic to see me as I am to see them those nights.

My journey continues on....

Rinse and Repeat?

I've dealt with depression since 2009. I most likely have had it all my life but didn't know it. I fell into a deep depression in August of 2008, just before the one year anniversary of my brother’s death. I finally started medication in the spring of 2009 and it saved me from falling further into a very deep dark place. On and off over the years I've caught myself on the cusp of this deep dark hole, often enough that I named it. I call it “My Cave” because I want to isolate myself and stay in bed with the curtains drawn and the lights off. My Cave has called my name for days, weeks, even months on end over the years. There were times when I couldn't fight it's call, even with medication, and would give in for a day or at worst a week. During the past year I've been able to keep it at bay with medication and with the love and support of W. Having someone to talk to about everything - no matter how big or small- is often what I need most. In December I started having stomach issues and the first medication I cut out was my antidepressant. NOT one of my best ideas and looking back I can see that it was extremely stupid considering the hell I was walking through with mom at the time. However, hindsight is always 20/20. Since stopping the meds I've been battling My Cave and generally losing small step by small step until I was already falling and didn't see it. Between all the things mom would say and how overwhelmed I was caring for her, My Cave was having way too much fun tweaking my thoughts and feelings. On Thursday I saw my physician and have since restarted my medication and I see a huge difference already. What made me see the light?  

On Thursday as I was pulling out of our driveway to go to the doctor I tuned in some random station and was just letting the music wash over me. I had two cards in the passenger seat- one from my aunt and one from a family friend. It was looking at those two sympathy cards that had me catching my breath. I can't say exactly what got through- all I know is in that moment I suddenly saw what was happening. And it was the wake up I desperately needed. I cried as I drove and played back the past week.

On Friday the 6th, my mom passed away at 8:18 am. The night before I was able to spend time with her and say my goodbyes. I was able to tell her I forgave her for the harshness of my upbringing and I found some peace in that- peace that I hadn't had in a long time. Friday morning Dad and I were with her as she took her final breath. I am blessed to have been there and see that she wasn't in pain or suffering. There truly is something defining about being with your loved one as they pass from this life to the next. It’s an experience that changes you fundamentally and profoundly. I honestly can't put it into the correct words- I've tried for years. It is, simply stated, life altering.

After mom passed came the part that always has and always will suck- making the phone calls to loved ones to let them know of her passing. I received various reactions: shock, indifference, sympathy and lots of tears. I cried through 98% of the calls. I watched my dad make his calls and saw the pain it was causing him. I wanted to take the pain away from him and knew I couldn’t. It’s a hard spot to be in and one My Cave used against me later on. One of the calls still plays over in my head because of the tone of the conversation. I had called an old family friend- a woman I've known since I can remember. She was always a second mom to my brothers and me when we were growing up. It was this woman, in her loving tone that told me she was here for me and that if there was anything, anything at all, that she could do to just let her know. I can't remember everything she said but those few words and the way she said them- they stick with me. I know without a doubt that she would do anything she could for me. I've never doubted that love. I never once questioned if she would be there if I needed her. I've never called on her, to put that bond to use. One reason being I never wanted to burden her and two, I knew if it got back to my mom I’d have hell to pay. Acknowledging why these words are sticking with me is acknowledging the grief I have over the bond mom and I didn’t have. I never questioned my mom being there for me- she was always there when Tony and I needed her. I however have often questioned how much or little she truly loved me. As I've written before, our relationship wasn't the picture perfect illusion we portrayed. I cry for the relationship I wish I'd had with my mom. I grieve over what wasn't and the pain of what was. Prior to Thursday My Cave wouldn't let me see this. All it would let me see is that I had failed to take Dad's pain away and that I was inept at knowing what he needs from me. Illogical yes, but My Cave has never been and never will be logical. 

The rest of the 6th was spent running errands with Dad and W. We, dad and I, needed to keep busy. We weren't ready to sit and cry yet, so off to lunch and to Sam’s Club we went. Everything was going okay when I wandered down the canned food aisle and found myself staring at the fruit cocktail cups I would normally be picking up for mom. And that’s when the tears flowed- standing in an aisle of Sam’s Club. It was a peek in to the changes that would be starting right then- my life with my mom and my life without my mom. I didn't break down in some grand fashion. I simply let the tears fall as they needed.  I pulled it together and kept on shopping. I didn't even cry that night over it- My Cave instead turned a normally happy dream of Harry Potter into one of death and Dementors. It was awful and when I awoke on Saturday I felt like I hadn't slept a wink. I ended up taking a naps on Saturday and Sunday. I pulled away from W without realizing it.

Over the weekend it was decided to switch bedrooms with dad. It means he’s downstairs in his own little world and we, W and I, are upstairs by our son. It changed how the house feels and it makes me feel totally grown up. I no longer live in the basement of my parent’s home. It’s a change I didn't think would hit me quite as hard as it has. I was left thinking, “When did I grow up?”, “How will I support my dad?”, “How do I make our family better and stronger?”, “How am I going to afford all the bills?” and so many other things that I suddenly felt lay on my shoulders alone. I didn't spend the time I should have on these things; I didn't talk them out with W as I should have. Instead My Cave took over.  I let My Cave tell me it was all on me and let myself get overwhelmed. All I could see was the shit once again rolling down hill and landing at my feet- for me to dig through alone. I was isolating myself just as My Cave told me to.

As we moved items from one floor to the other over the course of the next few days, My Cave was enjoying the freedom it suddenly had in my head. Every little thing W said or did was suddenly a GIANT flaw. He couldn’t be upset that he kicked a table. He couldn't cuss at dropping something. He couldn't let his frustrations show even the littlest bit. I took it all as an affront to the grief I was swimming in- though I wasn't telling him how I felt. I started looking for a way to tell him off. I even started doubting if we could make this relationship work long term. Things were changing at a pace I wasn't ready for and My Cave used this against me. Now keep in mind, I didn't realize this was happening while it was happening. It was on Thursday that the light turned on. 

While I drove to the doctor on Thursday afternoon, I talked things out. Yes, I was the weird woman in the car talking to herself. Only I wasn't just talking to myself- I was talking to My Cave. I suddenly saw that I was doing what My Cave had made me good at- pushing the good out of my life. I saw how I was pushing W away and vowed to cut the crap. I was expecting perfection from everyone, especially myself, when I was slowly crumbling inside. I gave Dad leeway to grieve as he saw fit but none to myself. I kept making up lists of things to accomplish and not getting far enough on them. I was holding myself to a standard no human can achieve. My Cave was definitely in control and was enjoying its new found freedom. When I did give in to the tears I did it alone, exactly how My Cave preferred me to. I saw that My Cave was trying to take over and acknowledged that I need the meds back on board so that I could keep myself balanced. As soon as I stepped in to the exam room I started crying. I knew I needed the help and I knew I'd get it.

When I got home from the doctor on Thursday W was cooking dinner. I told him I needed to talk and that it might hurt to hear what I had to say. I cried a lot. I admitted I was looking for a reason to push him away and that until the meds were level in me, he was not to believe me if I said “Get the F*$% out of my house.” I told him that I was waiting for him to treat me the way my ex had when Tony passed away. I admitted I was feeling overwhelmed with all the changes that were happening. I explained what I was worrying over and we were able to discuss those concerns. I reiterated to W that I want a future with him and that he is the one I love- now and always. I did see how it hurt him to hear me say “I was ready to tell you to get out and stay out.” I knew I had to be brutally honest even if it did hurt. I explained to W how My Cave manipulates me- how it turns little things into big issues and big things into little items so that nothing gets dealt with properly. I talked about how he can best help me. I’m lucky that W understands and will give me what I need when I need it- whether it is a simple hug or some time to be alone. At the end of our conversation I was able to see My Cave retreat and feel some relief.

I've been back on the meds a few days now. My Cave is back in check and I have confidence it will stay in its proper place. I'm not going to allow My Cave a repeat performance of 2008. I’m aware that some days are going to be easier than others. I know a day in My Cave isn't the worst thing I can do, but staying there for too long is. I've realized I'm not expected to have everything set for the rest of my life RIGHT NOW. I have a list of things that I need to do over the next few weeks and I am tackling them one at a time. I am grieving my mom’s death and the loss of what I dreamed our relationship should have been. I’m not alone; I have W and the love we share to count on. I have my dad to care for and our son to raise. I’m re-writing my grand plan again… and that’s perfectly okay.  

I'm fine....

I've been on the verge of tears 90% of the day. When mom doesn't get good sleep I get the brunt end of her attitude and cruelness. I normally don't post on my personal page about what exactly is going on because I continually hear “it’s the disease. She'd never say those things if she wasn't sick.” I'm tired of hearing that because these are things she has said to me my entire life. She has fooled everyone from the get go- we do not have the relationship she portrayed to the outside world.

It is not the disease that makes mom say cruel things to me. She has been emotionally abusive to me since I can remember (about age 5 is my earliest memory) and it’s always behind closed doors. I remember one summer that she was watching two of the neighbor girls while their mom worked. New brown carpet had just been installed in our kitchen (who the hell puts carpet in a kitchen???!!!) and I spilled grape Kool-Aid on the table and some dribbled on to the floor. Mom was enraged and without thinking about the witnesses she grabbed me by the throat and banged my head into the kitchen wall repeatedly while screaming at me for spilling on her precious new floor. Tony came to my rescue and got mom to stop. I was crying silently but the looks on the faces of my two friends- complete and utter fear- those were seared deep in to my memory. My mom terrified them and as soon as their mom got home they told her what happened. Of course their mom did the right thing and demanded to know what happened. I’m not sure exactly what was said but I remember mom never lost her cool in front of those girls again. She'd wait till they were gone before she unleashed her anger at me. She didn't physically hit me again after that afternoon, but the emotional abuse got worse from there on out.

I learnt to play along with her charade because if I didn’t I paid for it. Tony protected me as much as he could. And when I got old enough to get a job I got one just to be out of the house. I didn't need the money; I needed the escape from her. I realize now that Tony stayed at home as long as he could so that he could protect me.  When he moved out, he always made sure to visit for dinner once a week and he made sure he saw me at least twice a week to see how things were.  He'd take me to a movie or out shopping because he knew I needed to be built up after mom tore me down. He worked hard to undo the damage mom did to me.

When mom and I were out in public together we could joke and be silly- the picture of perfection. And I always wished we could be that way at home too. I tried once in middle school and got my head chewed off. I could call her a “dork” or a “dumbnut” out shopping and she'd say the same thing back and it was all good. But being silly while no one was there to witness our “perfect mother-daughter” relationship was futile. She'd call me lazy, a whore, an airhead or she'd revert to her favorite way to cut me to shreds- “I have to love you because I gave birth to you, but I hate you!” -any time I tried to bring the fake into our real life. I learnt quickly where I stood with her and how to not provoke her. During high school I did all the things expected of me and dreamt of the day when I would be off to college. I made up for being the goody-two shoes the moment I hit college. I drank, I slept around, partied almost every night and skipped a lot of classes. I can honestly say I don't remember much of my sophomore year. I crammed a lot of bad crap into my first two years of freedom.  

The day mom found out she was pregnant with me she was actually scheduled to have some sort of procedure done on her uterus. I have been told she screamed “NOOOOO” when she found out she was pregnant. Dad has always reassured me that she wanted me and that it was the shock of finding out that she'd finally gotten pregnant when the doctors had convinced her she'd never have a third child that made her scream. I don’t doubt that she wanted me. I just don't think she wanted a daughter that is the polar opposite of what she is. Instead of a little mini mom, she got a mini dad. I've always taken after my dad in personality, attitude and intelligence. She was always jealous of the bond he and I have. I remember that when I was about 6 or 7 one of the little neighbor girls told my mom, “Amy loves her daddy more than she loves you.” My ass was beet red and I couldn't sit down for two days when I got home that afternoon. I didn't understand why loving my dad was such a horrible thing or why mom could be a daddy’s girl with her dad, but I couldn’t with mine. But I did learn to never ever admit that I loved my dad more than my mom again. I learnt to say what mom wanted to hear and to not trust the majority of people to protect me and keep my secrets.

Now that mom’s memory is fading and her mind is going fast, the cruelty has come back to how I remember high school. One minute she is thanking me for taking care of her, the next she is telling me what a lazy bitch I am. She accuses me of trying to steal her husband by making her look stupid. She tells me W deserves to marry a better woman- a woman capable of bearing his children and taking proper care of a man. She says I’d be an unfit mother so it’s a blessing that I never had any children. When I change her, she pinches at my arms and my breast. As I try to move her up in the bed she grabs at where my pacemaker is and has gotten the edge of it a few times. She will beg me to sit with her and when I do, I get to hear her talk about me. She talks to people long gone and tells them just how rotten I am- how I'm being mean when I change her diaper, how I make her roll on her side because I'm too lazy to just pick her up. I take hearing all this as long as I can and then I make up an excuse to leave the room. I go down to fold laundry and stand next to the dryer and cry. Or I slip into my office and just shake from the silent sobs.

   

The disease is causing her to say cruel things to Dad. She accuses him of hiding from her, of ignoring her, of not loving her. I will not allow her to be cruel to dad so I call her on it and make her stop. He doesn't deserve to be berated because he goes to work. He does all he can for her- he sits with her, holds her hand, reassures her that she is not being put in a home and he continues to love her as he has for 47 years. I make sure she doesn’t hurt him like she hurts me.

But who stops her from being cruel to me? No one- instead I get told "it's the disease" and that she isn't in her right mind. Maybe I should go back to saying “I'm fine” and leave it at that.

Does it ever get better?

“Does it ever get better?”

This question has been roaming around my brain and heart for the past 72 hours. It was asked in a Christmas card, addressed to my parents. While I can't speak from the point of view of a parent losing their child, I can speak to losing a brother. I wish these dear friends of my parents weren't in this situation, didn't belong to what I've come to call “The Club”. I wish no one I knew was in this club of heartache.

Does it ever get better? Yes, each year means you're still here to share the memories of Christmas’ past, childhood mishaps and all the good that was your loved one. You are here to share their story, their part in your history.

Does it ever get better?  No, the tears burn just as much today as the day you first felt your heart rip in two. The tracks seem to wear in to the surface of your cheeks. The saltiness is a fresh reminder that instead of laughter over a cup of coffee you're missing him/her.

Does it ever get better? Each birthday is remembered as if you can touch them. You sing to them, even if only under your breath, to remind yourself of the beauty of the life gone. You smile at the sun warming your face and feel the touch of their hand.

Does it ever get better? A song comes on and your normal day turns to tears and overwhelming sadness. You could be sitting in traffic or staring into space and that song, the song you shared, stops your heart for a beat and reminds you that they aren't here. As the years pass that song doesn't bring the gut wrenching grief, it turns to a calming balm on the bad days- a balm that you know is truly Heaven sent to remind you that they are still with you.

Does it ever get better? Looking at pictures of your loved one will change as the grief proceeds. One day you will be able to look at him sticking his tongue out on a family vacation or her rolling her eyes at you and instead of being taken to the worst day of your life, you'll hear him beg for a hot dog and fries because he’s “starving!” or her telling you that you're the worst parent because “all my friends are going!” You'll find a box of baby pictures and you'll be taken back to the day you brought that bundle of joy in to the world- including standing up your best friend for her New Year’s party because you went in to labor and you'll remember she didn’t believe you until she saw your preemie baby boy in the hospital. You'll find elementary pictures and remember just what a dork your brother really was. You will pull out her high school pictures and wonder what she was thinking to put those colors together, let alone got her hair that darn high. You'll be able to look at pictures from the days, weeks or months before they left this earth and your heart won’t feel as heavy as it did that very first year you were grieving.

Does it ever get better? Finding a shirt of his stuck in a box and that scent wafting up to your nose will have you bawling in that first year. Find that same shirt, smell his cologne in the fourth year and you just miss them so. You will cry both times, but it will be different.

Does it ever get better?  It becomes different. The rawness becomes less intense as years pass. The vast canyon you feel inside your heart and soul, it shrinks a bit year by year. The emptiness in your heart gets filled with memories of old instead of new and you adapt to it. Your memories of him/her become more vivid- you feel the wind in your hair on that beach vacation, you smell the grass he was cutting or you taste that awful cake she baked for you. You long to hear his voice one more time and in the still of the night or the overpowering loudness of your grief you hear him say “I’m okay. You'll be okay. I’m still with you.” And you take those words and hold on to them so tight that you worry you've changed them but then once again you hear “I’m okay. You'll be okay. I’m still with you.”

Does it ever get better? I find that after 7 years of missing Tony, things are never going to be what they were when he was alive. It’s not a matter of bad or good- just different. My birthday will never start with his call at 12:01 am- no one else can sing to me the way he did. Christmas shopping will never be as hilarious as it was with him- he got into the shopping cart and sang LOUDLY to everyone and never cared if people thought he wasn't right in the head. The 4th of July will never again involve the words “Don’t tell mom…” and that’s probably a good thing. The anniversary of his death is never going to be easy because I remember our last conversation, the look on his face as he was lead from earth to Heaven, the feel of his beard under my fingers as I hugged him one last time- all those memories pour in to that one day and I can get swept away. But he has also made things different in a good way- he got me to move out of my comfort zone in WI, he helped the doctor find what was going on with my heart and most importantly he helped me grow so that when the love of my life came back in to my world I knew not to let him go. I look at the world around me with eyes that see more than most; a soul that experienced grief on a deeper level than many will ever know; a heart that longs for what was and a mind that realizes it can never be.

Does it ever get better? After 7 years of grief I can honestly tell you that it doesn't get “better”. HOWEVER, it becomes normal to live with that hole in your heart. You learn to accept that your world is different. You adapt and you keep going with life, but it never, EVER, gets better. 

Failing and other worries....

Yesterday was a rough day for me. There are many things going on here and I feel like I’m sinking and failing at all of them.

1.  Mom is talking to people I can’t see and doesn’t want to live. 

2.   Mom needs me to be in the room with her more and more.

3.   I worry about Dad.

4.   My craft room is a mess, our bedroom looks like a hurricane tore through it and my office needs to be finished. 

5.   W is a neater, more organized person, than I am and I worry he’s going to get pissed at me and walk away one of these days. 

6.   Our garage is full of boxes that need to be gone through. 

7.   Our storage area in the basement needs shelves built and boxes gone through. 

8.   Our 14 yr. old sasses me and doesn't seem to care about anything, even his own belongings. 

9.    I got used by a “friend” and I am still hurt over it. 

10.   My body is painful and I’m tired.

More often I am spending the entire day with mom in their room. She is now on oxygen at night but is asking for it during the day. So instead of being able to wheel her out to the living room or the kitchen, we are in their bedroom listening to the same audiobooks over and over. I work on my laptop in the recliner but that leaves a long list of things undone. Yesterday I rearranged our pantry which was a necessary evil. It took me a few hours longer than it should have because I had to check on mom a lot so I took 15 minute breaks every hour. Whether or not I’m in the room, mom talks to people I can’t see. She talks to people that are dead and if I answer her or respond to her in any way she gets very upset with me for interrupting. She tells me she hates me because I make her do things. She tells me she wants dad to send me away. She tells me I’m mean to her. I should be used to it by now, but I'm not and it’s hard to hear over and over. Last night she was asking to die. She doesn't want to be a burden.  She wants to know when she will die. I can't get her to understand that Dad and I don't have that info. I told her that no one comes in this world with their expiration date stamped on their ass. I know there are times when she does know what’s happening to her. I can understand her fear and don’t blame her for getting upset. I wish we were already past this stage.

I worry about Dad and how he is dealing with what’s going on with Mom. We don’t get to talk as much as we used to as one of us is always with mom. And talking about her in front of her is not a good idea- she can get pretty damn vicious. I don’t know how he’s doing with the changes in mom. I know I cry and have W to hold me. But what about Dad? I pray he’s talking to one of his friends because carrying this big of a weight alone sucks.

I am used to being in control of my own world. I am used to doing everything on my own. W is doing his best to pick up the slack but he does say snide remarks about doing them or while doing them. I feel like I’m failing him because I see the mess and haven’t been able to catch up on it. When I have time I want to spend it with him or with the boy so that we are doing family things. I worry that he’s going to get fed up and walk away because this is more work than he thought it would be and too much is falling to him. I am used to having a long list of things to accomplish and taking my time. If it gets done today great, if not, tomorrow it’ll still be there. W doesn’t operate that way. He sees it and wants to take care of it right away. The problem is, he wants to know where to put stuff which means I either have to be down there with him when he’s working on it or it’s just going to have to wait- I can’t keep walking away from Mom to tell him where to put things. If he has things that he doesn’t know what to do with, it goes in a storage bin. I will need to get through that bin at some point. And when he does do things, I look around and don’t see my touch on things anymore. Our home is being put together but I feel like it’s not mine. I know it’s illogical because most of the stuff around is stuff I owned before he moved here or its things we’ve picked out together. It’s a control thing for me. As dad got home from work last night, I walked out the front door in tears. I went for a walk (barefoot) around the block by myself while W cooked. After dinner W and I sat on the front porch swing and talked about what I’m feeling. He said he’ll watch the snide comments and that he’s only trying to help me out. I understand that, but what I don’t think he understands is that I feel like a failure for not being able to take care of it myself. It is hard to know that you can’t do it all and have to have someone else take over the tasks that you enjoy. (I have no issue with him taking over the laundry though because I hate that task.J)

I’ve been talking about having a rummage sale for over a year. Still hasn’t happened as I haven’t been able to get through all the boxes. It’s a daunting task to know our two car garage is full of boxes and our basement storage area is too. And before anyone says it, yes one box at a time. I am failing at keeping at it and up with all the crap we have. I’ve set deadlines and haven’t even remotely hit them. Check off one more failure.

Our boy has been with us since June 22^nd. No he’s not my biological son, but he is W’s son and I willingly took him on as my own the day I fell in love with W. One day we seem to take a step in the right direction and the next he’s back to sassing me. When I call him on sassing, his response is “it was a joke.” And no matter how many times I tell him it didn’t sound like a joke he makes me out to be the “mean” one as I can’t take his jokes. Everything I tell him, or W tells him, is met with an argument. He has to have a comeback every single time. We can’t get him to understand that we know he doesn’t want to empty the dishwasher or help clean up after dinner, we don’t either, but it’s his job. He doesn’t have many chores with us (keep his room picked up, take his dirty laundry downstairs every Sunday, change his sheets on Sunday, pick up after himself, eating is done only at the kitchen table, and help clean up the kitchen after dinner every night) and yet he acts like we’re expecting him to be Cinderella. He has his chore list posted in his room and yet he can’t seem to get it done every day. Asking him to pick up his belongings (phone, Xbox games, toys, etc.) is met with “I know!” and yet doesn’t get done. His games will be all scratched up and we won't replace them. He's bought a few of them and still doesn't value them. We hear a lot of “ugh”, “I KNOW!” and “uh-huh” from him. Even my dad, who is the most patient man I know, has told him to cut the crap and stop arguing with me every time I tell him to do something. When we ask the boy what he wants to do in the future he gets all pissy at us and tells us we’re trying to get him to grow up too fast. We can’t get him to see that having an idea of what you want to do isn’t a bad thing. He can’t see that we’re trying to have discussions with him, to help him develop his interpersonal skills. I’ve taken to not responding to him when he snips at me. I don’t know how else to get him to see that I’m not going to put up with his disrespect. We took his electronics away the other day, I mean everything, all day. It was a pretty great day- not once did he snip at me or his dad. He found things to do outside- whittling, riding his bike, taking the dog for a walk, and skateboarding. When he came in, he actually picked up a book and read for an hour. School starts here on the 22^nd and he’s already got an attitude about it and it’s not a positive one. I’m prepping myself for the wars over homework and such. I am working on a routine for him- one that will be on a board that he can look at every day. I don’t know how else to make it was easy as possible for us all. We had a family game night two nights ago and we had a great time. But when he sees me just “sitting here, playing on my laptop” in mom’s room he doesn’t get that I’d rather be doing something else, but this is my job and I have to be here for her. I’d love to be able to spend the day outside with him. I can’t. No matter what I say to him about anything, if I contradict him or tell him to stop doing something, I am “mean” and “don’t accept him for who he is.”, all because I will not let him lie to me nor will I allow him to devalue himself or be disrespectful to his father, my father or me. I haven’t been able to reach him yet. I am failing him.

I met a woman last fall through FB. We were in a group together. While I haven’t met most of the women in this group in person, I consider them my friends and sisters. We support each other through hell and high water or cheer for the each other when the good stuff happens. This particular woman messaged me in May asking for help due to a financial hardship. She played on my emotions and used the “my kids don’t have food” line. I was able to help her out thanks to a refund I’d received and she promised she’d pay me back. I had no reason to think otherwise. She happened to run an online store and I purchased a Father’s Day gift for W from her. In the beginning of June she messaged me and told me it had been shipped along with repayment for the loan. Father’s Day came and went and I messaged her because the box never showed up. I was concerned that if the check she’d said was in the box was taken that she could be hurt financially. I also had plans for that gift for W. At the beginning of July it came to my attention that she’d done similar things with other people in the group and she wasn't responding to any of us. Not only did it hurt but it pissed me off. I thought she was my friend and that I was helping her out. I never thought she was scamming me. I called her out for it in the group and was instantly blocked by her. Her store was suddenly gone from the website. I had no way to get in contact with her, still don’t. If she couldn't pay me back, fine, just tell me- be honest. That’s what real friends do. But to not send me something I purchased as a gift for someone else and then not respond to me when I asked where it was is beyond disrespectful. I was able to obtain a refund for the gift from the site she had her store on even though she wouldn't respond to them either. I know I won’t get the loan back. I could have put that money towards Christmas. But I will do without it and I will get over it. However, to be honest, I won’t be helping anyone else out for a long time. I don’t hold anyone else accountable for her actions- they were hers and hers alone. I hate that she hurt mutual friends. I would much rather it just is me that got burned, not others. I will always want to prevent others from getting burned. 

As I said earlier, yesterday I redid our pantry. I took everything out, wiped down the shelves, vacuumed and mopped the floors. Then I put everything back in. I was up and down from the floor to the ladder to the table to the counters. I bent, I twisted, I crouched and I lifted. I scrubbed, wiped, and organized. I spent the day before running errands with the boy- the bank, the beautician, the grocery store and Wal-Mart. Today my legs are on fire, my head is pounding and my body is telling me I overdid it. Two days of that much activity is too much for me. I know this, but I don’t like not being able to do what I want. I want to be able to get things done and have boundless energy. I want to not have to swallow pain relievers just to get through the day. I know that for me I'll never get back to what I want. I have a new normal. I have to work within my own body’s constraints. I know there are people out there who will never understand the pain I am in daily because they see the smile on my face. I smile through the pain because trying to explain how I feel is harder than simply smiling. I cry at night when it gets too far out of control. I pray for relief and the strength to get through another day. As soon as dinner is done tonight, I will go lie in bed and watch my shows. I will get up tomorrow and go tackle some of the boxes in the garage. Sunday I will be in pain. This is my world.

Right now mom is asking when dad will be home. This is the 8th time (she's asked two more times while I've been proofreading) since lunch that she’s asked. And tonight when we sit down for dinner she will ask him repeatedly if he has to go back to work after lunch. Repeat, rinse and repeat. I’m counting down the minutes till I can go downstairs and try to forget how badly I feel I’m failing at being a mom, a housekeeper, a caregiver, a daughter and a partner to W.  

Will you be my mom?

I find myself near tears today. I don't feel good; I am having high pain and feel emotionally unstable. One minute I want to weep, the next scream and then I get sullen. It's just a bad day. I want to be able to go curl up in bed and just stay away from everyone. I can't. I am sitting here in the recliner in mom's room. Thunder is cracking and rain is falling. Mom is snoozing off and on.

It's been a mellow day for mom. We both fell asleep this morning after dad left for work and woke up in time for lunch. I made mom her normal lunch- tuna and mini Oreo's. She drank her Dr. Pepper and did okay. I ate at the same time and we watched Frasier together. I only had to help mom with one spoon full of tuna today, which is better than yesterday. When I brought her back to her room to lay back down, she was chattering away about one of my cousins and how cute his girls are. I made the appropriate noises and was careful not to correct her about how old he and his girls are. I realize she is back in the early 80's and just use my own memories of the time to fill in the blanks. As I helped her move from her wheelchair to the bed she smiled at me and said "I love you." I told her the same. As I covered her up she asked me, "Will you be my mom?"

How do I answer that? I didn't see it coming. It took me a few seconds to come up with the answer. "I'm your daughter, I can't be your mom. You're my mom."

"Oh…." She looked confused and then quickly said, "Yeah I know that."

I recognized that statement and the look on her face. I know that this is her way of covering up for what she doesn't know. She can say "Yeah I know that" and make herself feel better. I don't fall for it but I also don't call her out on it. I know it would cause more harm than good.

Should I have said I'd be her mom? Did I do the right thing? I don't know. I never truly know if my answers are the right ones. All I know is that I have to do what I think is best. I have to answer her without crying and without upsetting her. I have to choose my words carefully and thoughtfully but quickly because too long of a pause and she gets upset and feels as if she's being ignored. I can't let my frustration come through. I can't be too sassy or sarcastic (though I get it from her!) but must keep humor in my responses.

She is lying on her back and I'm to her left. She can see me if she turns her head far enough. She knows I am here. But she has conversations with people I don't see. She talks to my grandfather, my brother, her one sister and her favorite aunt. If I ask her what she's talking about, she tells me it's none of my business and turns her head to the right as if she can't see me, I can't see her. I act as though I'm not paying her any attention and she resumes her conversation. She will doze off occasionally and wake with a start to resume her conversation. I hear some of the words but not all of them. I will probably never be privy to those conversations. But I will be expected to know what she's been talking about as if I was. It's a fine line. It's a line that I tiptoe along a lot. I've gotten good at nodding and laughing and saying "hmmm" at the appropriate spots. That comforts her and that's what matters.

We are helping mom more and more. I wash her hair and give her a shower, she just sits or stands there. She can't figure out how to use the shampoo anymore. When she eats, her hand shakes. Half the food falls off the spoon, some hits the bowl while the rest hits the placemat. She is eating simpler and simpler every day- tuna, chicken nuggets, mini Oreos, fruit cocktail, candy, apple slices. I got her adult sippy cups so that she can drink without help and not get soaked in the process. She has special silverware with big handles, but she doesn't like them very much. Her sweatshirt has food stains and her fingernails always have Oreo crumbs under them. I do my best to keep up with it, but she hates having her nails cleaned. I trim them as often as I can but stopped painting them because I noticed she was chewing on her nails and I don't want her eating the nail polish. She hasn't had her wedding rings on this week because she forgot she's not wearing them. I think that's good because I noticed she was playing with them and putting them on the wrong fingers. She also was holding them in her lips- I'm worried she'll choke on them. I have to remember to tell dad not to put them on her again. I keep baby wipes around to clean her face. I have disposable washcloths to help keep her clean everywhere else. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to get her in the shower. It's getting more and more difficult as she can't follow simple directions any more. All these changes are happening. I can't stop or slow them down. And I'm back on the verge of tears….

I feel like I talk to you all about the same thing every time I write. And maybe I am. I don't know anymore. I think about the changes so much that when I finally sit down to write a blog, I wonder if I've already hashed this all out. Please forgive me if I ramble, forgive me if I'm repeating myself. I am grateful to you all for listening, for the support and the love. I truly appreciate you more than I can express.