Black Days

My father could not awaken my mother yesterday. They rushed her to the hospital, which is probably the best place for her to be, since he’s such an ass and cannot think of anyone but himself and how her condition – her deterioration into Alzheimer’s means she can no longer care for him, as she has been doing for almost 60 years; us – her children she raised single-handed without his help as he was too consumed with adulation from his parishioners; and herself. But he is too selfish to think about her and can only think about what it means for him.

I feel so alone. I am so far away, even though I just returned from seeing them. I am losing her and it is killing me. She is my everything. And he does not care. Not about her. Just him and the damn dog. He is pissed that they will have to leave their house and move into assisted living (we hope), because he loses the control he has maintained all his life. He is a fucker. I am not ashamed to say this. I have his genes as well as hers – I am just more empathetic than he will ever be, at least toward family members.

I am a wreck. I went to work today and the head of my company basically told me to “suck it up” as we all go through it, and to not let it interfere with my job performance. Why would I want to continue to work for an organization that does not understand this fear? This loss? This feeling of hopelessness? I shut down. I hate them all, but I will put on the mask that I have worn for years and do what I have to do to keep getting a salary and medical insurance to keep me somewhat sane.

Death is unfair. I know we are born, we die, and what is most important is what happens in between the two. And she was the epitome of that. Is. She is not gone yet. But I am so scared. I am scared for the future. Being so far away. And if she goes, what that will mean for the rest of us in dealing with him…

I am who I am because of her. I cannot say that enough. I have lived my life because she encouraged me not to be afraid, to do whatever my heart wanted me to. I lived the life she could not, simply because of the generation she grew up in. She was expected to marry, have children, be the dutiful wife. But she was full of so much more and she passed it on to me. She taught me to not accept “no” because I was female. She is responsible for who I am to this day.

And so I explored the world. I spent years being the prodigal daughter who showed up when I felt comfortable to – not because of her, but because of my father. She was there when my husband died, she supported me when I went into rehab for my addiction to alcohol. She never judged. I can never say the same for my father. I was flawed. I don’t think he will ever accept that fact.

I am a flaw. I am human. It is hard to accept, growing up under the conditions I did. With an overwhelming father who asserted his presence whenever he was in the house. When he wasn’t there, tranquility reigned and I loved it. I hated it when he was home. And my anger and resentment only worsens as I age. Because I can see, as an adult, what he has done to her, how he diminished her, just as he has done to all his daughters. The only one he loves is his one son.

He still cannot accept the fact that she is unable to care for herself. That she is now in the hospital. That she will not be there to listen to his endless prattle or do what he insists, or placate him. He has too much ego, too many years of others telling him how wonderful he is. Everyone but his children.

I wish I could fade away from all of this. I want avoidance. I want to escape into the unknown, especially if this is the end for her. I want to run away and fade from everyone’s consciousness. I want to be anonymous and alone. I do not want emotions, connections, love – anything that has to do with caring for another individual. As much as I love those close to me, I cannot handle this. I do not know what to do.

I want to die with her. I want to hold her hand and take my last breath when she does. Because she is all that matters to me. And I fear for what life has in store for me after what happens, happens. The others I love will die. I will lose them all. Perhaps I should revisit my idealistic suicidal thoughts and consider an option. Because I do not feel strong enough to deal with this tragedy. This ending.

© Sorrow & Kindness


One thought on “Black Days

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.