My absence from the blog has been purposeful, so complete is my exhaustion. My desire to withdraw, to retreat and hide has been at times overwhelming. Overwhelming to the point where bizarre dreams fill my nights (President Obama sends his regards to you all while my boss didn't have much to say, she simply watched me climb the ladder that ended at the ceiling!) and when I wake in the morning the enormity of the changes in my mother's life presses me into my pillow and I force my feet to the floor and into my day. Once I get in the shower the tasks of the day stretch before me and my day starts.
My days usually end with a visit with my mother. This evening we watched Dr. Phil. She likes Dr. Phil. She likes his Texas accent and the fact that he's a big man. She is getting quieter lately. It's subtle but that's what I watch for now, small things, little changes, changes that mean she is further from me than the day before. Some of the staff notice it, some don't.
It is these little things, these subtle changes that are the source of my weariness. The big stuff, the major things (like the fact that she has dementia in the first place) don't seem to take as much of a toll as you might think. Our power to adapt amazes me. But those small things, those subtle shifts in her bring me to my knees.
When you rest in the low spots of your life it is often the little things that raise you up, lift you off your knees and fortify you for the next step. When you are fortunate enough (as I am) to have people in your life who care for you, love you and walk with you in your joys and sorrows, it is important to turn to them and let them help. Let them supply the little things that make all the difference. A phone call, shared time, an email and even a message on a Facebook page take on more meaning when they come at these times.
And so I return. To my blog, to my email, to my phone, to my life. And as I return I am greeted by friends and family and it feels good.
The Patience of Ordinary Things
by Pat SchneiderAnother River: New and Selected Poems
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes.
How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
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