Sorry I have not posted in so long. My computer caught a nasty virus and I had to replace it. Meanwhile, I started a new job and quit my job of 13 years. My oldest daughter turned 16, helped to buy a ’96 Mustang as her first car and moved in with her dad “to improve our relationship.” My dad went to the psych unit again for almost three weeks and came out in a pleasant fog where he no longer realizes what he is losing. My children finished their school year. We gave our dog, Bambi, to a family that had more time to give her the attention she needs. Our kitten, Charlie, died at six months old from his congenital liver disease.
I’ve realized so many things. I am not a strong person. I am tredding water to survive. My checking account is a mess, as is my house. I feel other people’s emotions so strongly it drains me. I don’t get refueled often, if ever. Yet I push some opportunities away because I am scared of being hurt. Yet some things I cling to and nurture with the gentle touch Mother Nature gives as she spreads dew on the spring flowers.
I am an empty vessel. I don’t like to ask to be refilled for fear that I will be denied. Even God.
My dad is also an empty vessel. He still knows enough to keep his body alive. He has a basic memory of his family, when we visit or remind him. But his eyes are empty and sad and scared and lonely. What he is missing can’t be refilled. And we are not allowed to give him things that brought him joy in the past. They don’t like for us to take him out of the nursing home “because it confuses him.” Sometimes I imagine breaking him out in a “Thelma and Louise” way and we drive off where no one has to live the sad days left. We just drive off in the sunset and he disappears into the wilderness that has been his hobby for so long.
Living life can drain you. Wondering if you’ve made the right decisions from shampoo to changing jobs, the stress builds daily. And for some dying is just as draining. Not the quick blessing of a car accident or cancer found too late.
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