The Shape of Today

The shape...of the storm.

I see that my last two entries used "sailing" metaphors to describe my situation, so it seems appropriate to continue with them. This is the longest, hardest storm I can recall sailing through.

Dad's been back at home from rehab since the end of March, but I simply haven't had time to sit down and write about him or anything else for that matter. UTI's, I have learned, are murder. The damn thing keeps trying to come back despite multiple rounds of antibiotics and when you take his age and his other conditions into consideration it makes for a tough fight. While he's mentally much better than he was when everything went critical back in February, he's still got some blocks. Mostly with communication, something he was never great at before any of this happened. He doesn't always tell me what he needs, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn't always mention his pain or discomfort. And that adds a wrinkle to my sudden new role of "caregiver". And, of course, he very frustrated that he needs help with nearly everything. I keep urging him to do the exercises assigned him by his physical therapists, reminding him that getting stronger with benefit him. But sometimes I feel I'm hitting a brick wall. If it hurts him to do the exercises, he won't say. What am I to do? I can't force him, after all.

The worst part for me, apart from seeing him struggle, is watching my own time flying out the window. Mornings like this, when I can sit down with a cup of coffee and write something, are now a rarity. From the time my feet hit the floor in the morning I'm running...to take care of Dad, often to get him up, breakfasted, and settled into his recliner for the day before hurrying off to work. Work has actually become a haven of sorts, where I don't have to worry about him for several hours...well, not directly. We're lucky to have home health and family members to look in on him and I will not deny that prayer has been a help as well. I still have my sanity. I still read as prodigiously as I am able to in this situation. I need to start writing again; it will help me cope. Finding the time and the energy is always the big challenge. But others have done it, writers I admire greatly. I can do it, too.

Yes, it's a very big storm. It's ugly. It keeps lashing my little boat, threatening it to overwhelm it with despair. I will not allow that to happen as long as I'm still on my feet, though. I've come too far for that.