Thanks, Keith Haring

Last Thursday I was supposed to have a phone conference with a Florida elder lawyer in hopes of gaining some insight into my seemingly endless issues. Wouldn’t you know it: she was out sick with laryngitis. The appointment was pushed to next Thursday.

I have spent over seven months focusing on my mother and her health, day and night, giving up sleep, food, my peace of mind. I walked around with my stomach in knots, I suffered from strange ocular migraines. In short, I was on the road to doing myself in.

A few phone calls ago, my mother asked me what I would be doing that day. “I hope you do something nice for yourself,” she said. It just so happened that nothing nice for myself was on the agenda; I forgot what that was like. I realized that she would try to have a nice day: she would likely sit out on her terrace and look at the trees and the lake. She would find her own kind of peace. But the fact was I was not in the same place. I no longer knew how to calm down and  quiet my nerves. Her place was the place of blissful ignorance. She knew nothing of what I was doing in the background– she had an idea, but it was just that, an idea. She knew nothing about my fears that she might end up in a nursing home. She knew nothing of my anxiety that if I did move her out into a regular apartment with an aide that there would still be the finance issue, and if money ran out, where would she go? The bottom line was she would have to move again. Was the current assisted living–the devil we knew–better than the devil of the unknown?

What I ended up doing was gardening. I needed to ground myself after months of floating. I needed to dig in dirt. I needed to turn on the water, to drag the hose. To see some color. I was living in such a black and white world for so long I had forgotten that life was going on without me. Even my mother left me behind. She was gazing out on trees and water and geese while I was on the phone making hundreds of calls and trying to find answers.

Remember that letter I wrote to the assisted living management about my grievances? Well, Mr. Steve left a message on my cell phone in the most cheery, upbeat voice, it was almost laughable. Was he afraid? Did I hit on something? Was my putting the grievances in writing  perceived as an unwritten threat? Did he think that perhaps I had contacted a lawyer?

“… all these things to my knowledge have been remedied but I would like to talk to you about your letter, so please give me a call at________.”

Know what? I didn’t rush to call him back. In fact I didn’t even try, I just didn’t feel like it. I reached a point, perhaps a point of evolution where I told myself I needed a break. A total break or I might break. Strangely, my nerves calmed down. I needed to disconnect from the emotional charge of my everyday panic and just let it all be. I needed to be objective.

Last Friday I called my mother’s aide; she mentioned that the issue of delayed meals was improving. I pretty much have given up on the lousy old bathroom sink, but the rats and the garbage disposal are another story. For the moment, life seemed a little brighter. All because someone was finally beginning to listen…  after months of my complaining. For all my pushing and squeaking I was getting a little grease.

Then she said, ” I’ve been fighting with your mother. She refuses to take the breathing treatment. She says, ‘this is her house and she doesn’t have to.’ ” To which I responded: “So, let her be. Don’t make yourself crazy. Don’t make her crazy. If she feels OK just leave it, let Hospice deal with it. Don’t feel the pressure of needing to do your usually perfect job. Just look the other way and don’t mention it today. It’s just not worth it. Let her be the adult.”

And she got it.  We both knew that sometimes you have to back off and just leave it all alone. Let it be.

The lawyer got laryngitis and had to take a break.

Maybe sometimes you need to know when to stop watching, listening, and speaking.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here