It seems like there are always more lessons to learn, at least if you look at life from my perspective. And right now, I'm taking the accelerated class.
Seems like I still harbor the benighted idea that I am capable of being everything to everyone, if not every day, then at least 6 out of 7. Since that is obviously not true, sooner or later it catches up with me like it did last night. Big time blow up. Tears, Yelling, Accusations, Ridiculous Statements, Sobbing in the Shower, Hopelessness, Feeling Trapped, and for good measure, a little more Yelling. Nobody ever went wrong pointing out my resemblance to a drama queen.
The thing is, for the first time, it was disguised as a problem between Jill and me. It's always so much harder when it presents like that. The truth? Fatigue, disappointment, fear, anxiety, unreasonable expectations --- all the usual suspects. Up until then, we had been able to stay in close enough communication to head off breakdowns. In fact, we've been downright proud of ourselves for what a team we've been. Got this caregiving stuff down pat. Piece of cake.
Or not. I know it's inevitable and we're all feeling our way through this new situation. It's not going to unfold perfectly, or anywhere close. I know that in my head, but I don't always know that in the moment.
One of the unintended consequences of last night's firestorm was a change of attitude this morning. I woke up restored, refreshed, ready to resume my role as Chief Comforter and Taxi Service. I loved my wife again, and my mother as well. I even loved my life.
Jill went to work. Mama went to visit Jack. Buddy and I braved the 38 degree temps and went to play at the dog park. He had a good romp and I got to chat with a couple of doggy daddies. When it was time to leave, the gate clanged shut behind us and Buddy started to trot down the walking path, not toward the car. I had the keys, I'm the driver, and as far as I was concerned we'd been in the cold long enough. But he looked back at me with those adorable eyes, asking as clearly as with words "Can't we go for a walk, Mom?"
It only took half a minute for me to remember the night before and bring myself back into the moment, right here, right now, in the brisk, cold air of a morning in December at Millbrook park. Did I have anything better to do? So off we went, not just walking but, after a little start, running as well. Now, I want you to know that I don't run unless someone is chasing me. It's a policy. Buddy liked it and I liked it. It didn't last long, but after that little burst of activity, we slowed down to continue our walk into the woods. And when we came to a fork in the road, we took it!
Off the paved sidewalk and onto a small, leaf-covered path we trotted, Buddy unable to believe his luck at this turn of events. Do you have any idea how many things there are to smell in the woods? As we walked deeper into the trees it became less trimmed, less like a park and more like a real enchanted forest. I remembered how much I've loved walking paths like that, ever since I was a child, playing in the wild area across the road from our house. I thought about kids growing up in the city who don't experience the outdoors like that, maybe even if they live in the same neighborhood as this little patch of wilderness.
We walked through a section where once-tall trees lay across the ground like pick up sticks, and I wondered if they were leftover from Hurricane Fran in '96. For awhile, the whole city looked like that. Then we came to a thick stand of pines where the underbrush grew wild and the light was shadowed. I began to wonder how far this could go on, since Raleigh was all around . . . somewhere. Suddenly we came into the light at the bottom of an embankment. Above our heads I could hear the thwock, thwock of tennis rackets. Against Buddy's better judgement, we scaled the not-too-steep hill and emerged on the solid blacktop that surrounded an enclosure of tennis courts, filled with the ladies in pony tails who play while the kids are in school. As we crossed the parking lot in the direction of the dog park enclosure, I realized that our great exploration had been a large circle --- we were right back where we started.
How often have I stuck to an agenda and lost the opportunity to explore? This day will never be repeated. I look at my mom and see someone who has largely lost the ability to make decisions about herself and her experiences. I may or may not wind up in her shoes, but today I have choices and it's up to me to make the ones that support the life I want to live, instead of just what I "ought" to be doing.
Buddy was my teacher today. Jill was my teacher last night. But I can be my teacher, too, and even choose my own curriculum.
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