Thirsty

I am thirsty...in fact, parched.  Oh, it is not for lack of water or other liquid.  No, it is for something, anything that will change the conversation, the mood, the tedium.  I have been here before.  It was many years ago as a young mother when I was home day after day with a newborn.  I remember my mood, my emotions, my frustration.  I yearned for adult conversation, distraction from the daily duties that filled each waking moment.  I told myself that I needed to be a perfect mother.  Perfect!  Was that even possible?  I could not live up to perfection and was sadly disappointed by my performance.  Those moments of craziness were met by confusion as my husband struggled to understand, to sympathize and to try to fix what was wrong.  How difficult those times must have been for him -- feeling helpless and yet wanting to do something, to participate and repair the disruption of his happy home.

As the saying goes, 'Life goes full circle".  Now, when Skip comes home from work he finds me in the same place where he left me.  I am sitting in the family room, TV blaring for my mother to watch and be able to hear, eyes glazed and babbling a relieved 'hello' as I greet him.  Then I tell him about my day -- about all of the things that Mom did, all of the things she didn't remember, all of the little frustrations.

I pepper my conversation with tidbit learned from all of the daytime TV programming.  "Dr. Phil said..."  or "Judge Judy was..." .  Sometimes we have a moment of excitement as I leave the room to go get dressed or answer the phone.  Often my mother sees this as an opportunity to go AWOL.  Today it was a quick exit to the door I forgot to lock.  I was folding laundry in my bedroom when I heard the hall door to her apartment open and close.  "Huh...that is odd," I said to myself.  "I thought that I heard the door close."  Then I realized that I had forgotten to lock the door that Mom tries day in and day out multiple times.  "The door is locked," I remind her.  Then she grimaces and says that she is tired and wants to go to her room.  I tell her she must stay downstairs so I can watch her and keep her safe.  She is compliant but not happy.  So, as I realized that today she seized the opportunity to 'escape' through the unlocked door I ran to stop her. Jangling jailer's keys (metaphorically speaking) I reminded my mother that she could not go upstairs alone and certainly NOT during the day. She was sad.  She walked away despondently.

Frustration makes me short-tempered.  How many times a day am I expected to explain why she can't go to her room, why her safety and my supervision is important, why sleeping too much during the day will cause her to walk around all night.  Oh how I wish  that I could let her take a nap when she wants, go upstairs at will, live independently and do as she pleases.

I remind myself that she and I are both making sacrifices...unpleasant sacrifices and we are learning to live with them. Yes, I am thirsty, but I will try to quench my thirst in small sips of companionship from phone calls to friends and family, with brief visits, and with precious moments I share alone with my husband.