Sometimes I wonder why I keep adding entries to my blog. After all, I am not "caring for my dad" anymore. Sometimes (although not often) I wonder why I keep going to the support group for caregivers. I'm not a caregiver anymore.
Yesterday, I received an email from the facilitator of the support group. She told me that one of the women from the group wanted to talk with me and asked if I would call her. So I did. We talked for quite a long time. I listened to a very familiar story, and my heart was breaking for her. But I definitely knew what she was saying and I did understand. I gave her the site for my blog and pointed out where she should begin reading, as I was once in her very shoes.
I got an email from her this morning. The parts of my blog that she read were helpful to her. I'm glad. The journey of care giving is difficult, and stressful. It seems that once you get used to it (if ever), the care giving seems to have some predictability and routine. It may not last long, but for that time, your skills feel adequate. But then something changes, and the stress level increases, the questions arise, the self doubt emerges, and the guilt or regret eats us up. Doing the best we can for the moment is all we should require from ourselves. There is no way to do any better if you are doing your best and doing what you think is beneficial for your loved one. There is nothing more compassionate or loving for them...or for us.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
A giggle
There is a certain amount of joy in my heart being able to talk about my dad and get a good feeling.
This evening, Tom and I were watching TV and there was a commercial that Family Feud is coming to Phoenix and they are auditioning families. I said, "Wouldn't that be fun? But we wouldn't have enough here to go, they want 5." Then I thought, well, if my dad was still here we could go. I can just hear them ask him a question and he would reply, "Well, if you don't know the answer, I'm certainly not going to tell you!"
That was a good giggle. :)
This evening, Tom and I were watching TV and there was a commercial that Family Feud is coming to Phoenix and they are auditioning families. I said, "Wouldn't that be fun? But we wouldn't have enough here to go, they want 5." Then I thought, well, if my dad was still here we could go. I can just hear them ask him a question and he would reply, "Well, if you don't know the answer, I'm certainly not going to tell you!"
That was a good giggle. :)
Sunday, August 9, 2009
missing sounds
Every once in a while since my dad died, I have times when I am angry with God. Not only did he make my dad go through a destructive disease, but then he had the nerve to take him. There are other times, I am so grateful to Him for letting me be the one that cared for him and helping me learn the ultimate lesson of love and compassion. Such a flip flop of thoughts, and I know it.
I went to church this evening with my son. My plan was to pray for another successful year at college for him. But it was out of my hands, as the priest gave a homily partly addressing grief. I tried to hold it together, but it was hard to do. Whenever I go to church, I think about my dad. Growing up, we went to mass every single Sunday. When on vacations, he always found the Catholic church in the area for us to attend. When I came home from college for a visit, he still got me up to go - and I dared not decline his "offer". The prayers in church do not change. The ones we say are the ones that have always been said. The Catholic church is strong on tradition, in case you didn't know. I hear my dad reciting the prayers. His intonations, his phrasing of the words, were always just a bit different from the congregation's, and his booming voice stood out. I hear him loudly singing the prayers and songs. I hear him sneeze or loudly blowing his nose there. I swear, he blew his nose every time we went to church...and in a handkerchief too. eeewwww! I see the seat that he and I sat in the last time we attended together. It made me sad.
I miss him.
I went to church this evening with my son. My plan was to pray for another successful year at college for him. But it was out of my hands, as the priest gave a homily partly addressing grief. I tried to hold it together, but it was hard to do. Whenever I go to church, I think about my dad. Growing up, we went to mass every single Sunday. When on vacations, he always found the Catholic church in the area for us to attend. When I came home from college for a visit, he still got me up to go - and I dared not decline his "offer". The prayers in church do not change. The ones we say are the ones that have always been said. The Catholic church is strong on tradition, in case you didn't know. I hear my dad reciting the prayers. His intonations, his phrasing of the words, were always just a bit different from the congregation's, and his booming voice stood out. I hear him loudly singing the prayers and songs. I hear him sneeze or loudly blowing his nose there. I swear, he blew his nose every time we went to church...and in a handkerchief too. eeewwww! I see the seat that he and I sat in the last time we attended together. It made me sad.
I miss him.