Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Thursdays with Jeanne
I start my day with an apparition at the foot of my bed, mumbling incoherently. I lift one eyebrow tentatively, just to make sure there is no blood or obvious mess or injury. As I slowly make my way out of my blessed retreat, the apparition vanishes. I stumble in the dark doing morning things, feed and medicate my old cats, make coffee, start breakfast. I go back upstairs and check on my Casper and he is fast asleep, curled easily on his side as if he has not been making early morning visits at all. I remain the most disappointed in myself. The screaming self pity is almost paralyzing. Oh, I go through the motions, but the joy in my life gradually leaks out, leaving me a shell, an apparition myself. I yearn for my babies...the grandkids whose presence is an actual antidote for the malaise that is life's end game. I can't seem to find the energy to do even simple things that would help. I am not curled on my side, giving up, mind you...I visited a day care center yesterday and endured the heartsick routine of filling in forms and filling in the outer world on the mindless, numbing loss that is our life. I am seeing a new therapist, but I always feel better when I am out and alone for a minute, so she only sees me that way. I talked to a neighbor who is caring for her mother with Alzheimer's about sharing duties on occasion. We spoke energetically about my bringing him with me to stay with her mother when she has a meeting and her bringing her mom to stay with him when I have an appointment. We smiled brightly and promised to be in touch. Then we both returned to our own homes and closed the door, overwhelmed at the prospect of handling two people with this disorder at the same time. My friend agreed that I could bring him to her on an occasional Thursday while I try to go back to yoga. I told her I would pick up dinner after yoga for the three of us. That way we could visit a little also. So the efforts are there, sort of, but the joy continues to leak. Late summer's beautiful weather is such a gift and it adds to the sadness that I can't seem to reach out and enjoy it. I talk about it and stand for moments with my face in the warm sunshine. I sit on my porch and breathe deeply the gentle air. But something is sorely missing... I go through the motions at home. I recognize the needs and the efforts required to address them. I am witnessing the journeys of others and the suffering. My friends' poor health, my family's challenges. I feel as though I am becoming a ghost. A cardboard cutout of myself. going through all the proper motions. but no one is home.