It's been a long time since I've written regularly.
There have been parenting successes, and failures, and then successes - a lot of balance in life; total upheaval, job changes, life changes, growth and discovery, joy and sadness and then more joy; finding the love of my life and how he made every day better, and then my heart shattering when it all fell apart.
It's been months now since that moment.
Today I got up.
I showered.
I did the "thing" that single moms do - I survived. Today I fed children and cleaned up after pets and I bought more food to feed those ever-hungry children, and I fed them, again. I drove my car and paid a bill and watered some plants and then planned an evening involving a baseball game and dinner and prepping for tomorrow. There is always tomorrow even when I wish there wasn't.
I'm tired in ways I've never been tired before. All of us are tired right now. We are all tired of fighting for the rights of others, and for ourselves, fighting for what is right in general, all the while trying to be safe, trying to keep our children, our friends, and our families safe. We are all tired of fighting to make every end meet, to burn our candles at both ends without burning out, to burn a light in the darkness without burning up. I'm extra tired of doing it all alone.
I'm extra.
Extra tired, extra alone, extra burning out, burning up, burnt down entirely. I'm tired of reaching out when I know that I have to. I'm tired of "self care" and "living juicy" and "living whole"... I'm tired of living, of trying to do it with grace and panache and positivity and a good attitude and a grounded spirit. But I don't have a choice so I keep on going. I am necessary to my children, and I don't take that for granted - but I'm so tired these days and even tired of trying to do it all in a way that keeps my children living juicy and whole with grace and panache and positivity...but I keep trying.
July 28, 2020
April 17, 2020
Sometimes The Words Are Hard
I have another blog.
I have OTHER blogs, truth be told.
Some are public and some are private.
I am more than just THIS space.
Your zinfandel eyes
Your darkest alcove
My red chucks
My craziest bed-head
My craziest
Your darkest
Us
We began
and
We ended
Do you cry too?
I have OTHER blogs, truth be told.
Some are public and some are private.
I am more than just THIS space.
Your zinfandel eyes
Your darkest alcove
My red chucks
My craziest bed-head
My craziest
Your darkest
Us
We began
and
We ended
Do you cry too?
April 7, 2020
Sometime in April, 2020
A month ago I went out to dinner with the man I loved; the man who loved me back. We ate at a Thai restaurant and he took a picture of me and said, "My heart is so full!" We were just 6 weeks past a discussion about marriage; a discussion we'd had more than once over the past 2 years... and that date was the last time I remember feeling loved, and in love, with that precious man. Corona Virus, or Covid 19, happened in real time, just days later.
We were already semi-aware of Corona Virus, but more as an encroaching threat, a thing for the future, and even though I worked in health care it wasn't yet a front line fear; and so we went out and had dinner and made love, and promises, and had hopes and dreams. That was then... this is now.
Today I left work, at a major hospital in a major city on the east coast, and I cried all the way home. No, that's not right, because I didn't just cry, I wailed. I screamed into the universe of my small empty car. Alone. I prayed, loudly and from my very soul. I cried out to God, who I felt distanced from in this moment, for myself, for my coworkers, for my friends, my family, for my neighbors, my community (and my online community)... for my children. It's how I've spent every day for the past month - in absolute agony and fear and grief, and also all alone. I am not scared. I am terrified. I am 50 years old and healthy and strong - but I am also alone and there are Covid 19 victims younger than me, at a rapidly increasing rate - right in my own hospital - on the very floor I work on - and I am full up of fear.
I am afraid of dying alone; not of dying, I want to be clear on that - but of dying alone. I am afraid of leaving my children alone. I am afraid that one of my own children could die and I am NOT strong enough to withstand that, I know this, not alone. I am afraid that the two brothers I have left on this earth as true family, could die - WOULD die in fact, if they contracted Covid 19. And I would be alone to navigate that grief. I am afraid of losing my remaining aunties and uncle, my few cousins, my rare and true soul-mate friends who are in the high risk category (which is changing and encompassing younger and healthier people daily). What will I do without my big brother Ricky? Without my friends Karen or Golden? What will my kids do, without me, or me without them? How will I die alone without a true love to hold my hand and see me off into heaven?
As my LEAST favorite cliche says, "It is, what it is..." Oh how I hate that cliche.
All I can do is live in THIS moment - and that is really the problem. THIS moment is full of fear, and stress, and emptiness. I told a friend today that in my loss and grief I was returning to the faith that had seen me through so many other losses, and that I so very much wished she had the same comfort. As much as that is true, I am still just one small human being, and I wish so much that the man I loved one month ago, who loved me back, was still available in this moment. As awesome and mighty as my God is, as my faith is, as my belief is, it isn't a human form that can hold me after a long day with sick and hurting people that I can't fix, a long day with scared and stressed nurses who can't fix their patients, a long day listening to administrative orders and knowing it's not saving lives but saving money. I need to be held and there is no one to hold me.
I can't find the balance right now.
We were already semi-aware of Corona Virus, but more as an encroaching threat, a thing for the future, and even though I worked in health care it wasn't yet a front line fear; and so we went out and had dinner and made love, and promises, and had hopes and dreams. That was then... this is now.
Today I left work, at a major hospital in a major city on the east coast, and I cried all the way home. No, that's not right, because I didn't just cry, I wailed. I screamed into the universe of my small empty car. Alone. I prayed, loudly and from my very soul. I cried out to God, who I felt distanced from in this moment, for myself, for my coworkers, for my friends, my family, for my neighbors, my community (and my online community)... for my children. It's how I've spent every day for the past month - in absolute agony and fear and grief, and also all alone. I am not scared. I am terrified. I am 50 years old and healthy and strong - but I am also alone and there are Covid 19 victims younger than me, at a rapidly increasing rate - right in my own hospital - on the very floor I work on - and I am full up of fear.
I am afraid of dying alone; not of dying, I want to be clear on that - but of dying alone. I am afraid of leaving my children alone. I am afraid that one of my own children could die and I am NOT strong enough to withstand that, I know this, not alone. I am afraid that the two brothers I have left on this earth as true family, could die - WOULD die in fact, if they contracted Covid 19. And I would be alone to navigate that grief. I am afraid of losing my remaining aunties and uncle, my few cousins, my rare and true soul-mate friends who are in the high risk category (which is changing and encompassing younger and healthier people daily). What will I do without my big brother Ricky? Without my friends Karen or Golden? What will my kids do, without me, or me without them? How will I die alone without a true love to hold my hand and see me off into heaven?
As my LEAST favorite cliche says, "It is, what it is..." Oh how I hate that cliche.
All I can do is live in THIS moment - and that is really the problem. THIS moment is full of fear, and stress, and emptiness. I told a friend today that in my loss and grief I was returning to the faith that had seen me through so many other losses, and that I so very much wished she had the same comfort. As much as that is true, I am still just one small human being, and I wish so much that the man I loved one month ago, who loved me back, was still available in this moment. As awesome and mighty as my God is, as my faith is, as my belief is, it isn't a human form that can hold me after a long day with sick and hurting people that I can't fix, a long day with scared and stressed nurses who can't fix their patients, a long day listening to administrative orders and knowing it's not saving lives but saving money. I need to be held and there is no one to hold me.
I can't find the balance right now.
September 3, 2019
Things that are seen
I used to work in a grocery store. I stood at a cash register and passed the time noting the odd items people bought and what it might mean or what insight it gave to that person. The guy buying chocolates, candy, and condoms was obviously hopeful. Equally obvious tho was the female buying chocolate, potato chips, salad, and tampons. The salad wasn’t fooling anyone! The occasional oddball with Mac and cheese, frozen meals, 2 liters of soda, and an expensive, specialty brand jar of cornichons. Was he going to eat them straight from the jar with his frozen weight watcher meal? It makes me giggle to buy oddball things on occasion now, wondering what the cashier may be thinking. Did I really need that package of pancetta along with my stony farms organic baby yogurt and my vegan and gluten free waffles? Yes, yes I did!
Today as I was checking out from the library I sheepishly said to the librarian, as I unloaded an overflowing armful of books, that it was a little like going to the store for milk but walking out with a $50 order. She laughed and agreed and then said, “oh I like this title!” while pointing to one book in my pile. The book? It was “The Life-Changing Magic Of Not Giving A F*ck” that she was referencing. In my typically awkward way I just smiled and said, “yeah, that one seemed to call to me today”. And I didn’t give on f*ck at all what she thought.
Scratch that. I did, totally, I gave all of the f*cks actually. But that’s why I got the book - to learn how not to!
I also got books on grieving the loss of your parents because all these years later I still miss my mom so much that it makes me cry. I miss my dad too... I can still hear his voice in my head sometimes. I also got home decorating books and some trashy fiction. A well rounded selection overall. Although maybe some of the books seem like the “salad” part of a mostly junk food grocery trip!
Now I’m going to curl up for hours at a time, (well, maybe in 10 minutes increments!) and read and learn and gather info and daydream. Because I want to. In the minutiae of parenting I sometimes forget to do things that I want to do, things that make me happy, not big grand things, but small things like sitting down to read a book with a cup of tea. So that is where you’ll find me for the next foreseeable future; curled up with a book and some tea. Drop by and visit if you’d like!
Today as I was checking out from the library I sheepishly said to the librarian, as I unloaded an overflowing armful of books, that it was a little like going to the store for milk but walking out with a $50 order. She laughed and agreed and then said, “oh I like this title!” while pointing to one book in my pile. The book? It was “The Life-Changing Magic Of Not Giving A F*ck” that she was referencing. In my typically awkward way I just smiled and said, “yeah, that one seemed to call to me today”. And I didn’t give on f*ck at all what she thought.
Scratch that. I did, totally, I gave all of the f*cks actually. But that’s why I got the book - to learn how not to!
I also got books on grieving the loss of your parents because all these years later I still miss my mom so much that it makes me cry. I miss my dad too... I can still hear his voice in my head sometimes. I also got home decorating books and some trashy fiction. A well rounded selection overall. Although maybe some of the books seem like the “salad” part of a mostly junk food grocery trip!
Now I’m going to curl up for hours at a time, (well, maybe in 10 minutes increments!) and read and learn and gather info and daydream. Because I want to. In the minutiae of parenting I sometimes forget to do things that I want to do, things that make me happy, not big grand things, but small things like sitting down to read a book with a cup of tea. So that is where you’ll find me for the next foreseeable future; curled up with a book and some tea. Drop by and visit if you’d like!
August 6, 2019
Hope, Realized...
I've often made the observation that my three oldest kids are very very much just like me: quiet-ish, introvert-ish, readers and thinkers and creators, sarcastic and witty and flawed in the most interesting ways; and that my last born nugget is... entirely different. G is loud, and fast, his brain is so sharp and constantly working, he is physically active and oddly, he is sensitive and easily offended. He makes friends with cashiers and baggers, greeters, neighbors, strangers...but not so easily with classmates. He loudly embraces life, and adventure, and people. But for me, being his mom has not always been particularly easy. He is fast. And loud. And not... like me.
He didn't like the car much as an infant. He cried miserably for most all car rides. He didn't like it if our house was noisy and full of people but he did enjoy getting out and people watching. He was always easily over-stimulated and if we were out and in public too long, he fell apart. At the same time, he needed interaction and connection and would get bored if stuck at home too much. Grocery shopping was such an anxiety producing experience, as was the rare occasion we went anywhere in public, that at some point in time it was best to NOT go anywhere with him except a playground or other obviously kid-friendly place...that was enclosed.
When he was 2, he once ran away from me in Home Depot (after first screaming miserably in the cart for far too long and then kicking and hitting and squirming and screaming while held so that I HAD to put him down on the ground) and it was some kind of comedy to chase him: 2 employees, Hannah, and myself all trying to cut him off, round him up, corral him... and him running and shrieking gleefully up and down aisles. He also ran from toddler story time once, shrieking with joy, through the aisles of the quiet library, with me in hot pursuit, red faced and embarrassed. He ran away in church once too - darting like a squirrel in and out of pews, right in the middle of the service, with me hissing thru gritted teeth for him to getbackhererightnowthankyouverymuch! We left the grocery store once also, him in my arms, my shirt half up around my neck exposing my body, him screaming and flailing like a cat getting a bath, just because. He was loud in quiet places, overwhelmed in loud places, he ran near streets and near strangers, he slumped down and wouldn't move in the middle of activity. By the time he was about 2 and a half, we just didn't do much at all. It was too hard.
When he was 5, it was better. Not great, but better. We started going places again. It got easier. He didn't run away, at least, not very often. He was more compliant, and I was better at reading his signals. I was learning him. Finally.
Now that he's 7 and heading into second grade it's... so different. It's more like what I had hoped for. We do a LOT of things and go a LOT of places. Regularly. I didn't realize though, exactly how much my little wild one has changed, until this morning.
Yesterday I had to have him come to my work for a couple hours. Hannah dropped him off and he came up with his backpack full of snacks and toys and sat at the front desk with me. The hour of time that comprises "shift change" on a med surg floor is crazy chaotic. Nurses coming in to get report from nurses leaving, last minute hold ups with discharging patients, last minute rushes to get patients admitted, a post lunch slew of toileting needs and medication changes, phones ringing and call bells sounding and overhead pages going out - it's loud and busy. There are doctors and nurses and aids. They know OF him, and when they see him they want to say hello. And he sat through it all. This morning, a nurse commented on G's behavior from yesterday, saying how amazed she was that he just sat there, played with his toys, ate his snack, watched a little show on my phone, answered politely to all the people stopping by to say hello to him and chat for a second, smiled and joked back at the ones who made time to engage, and was, in her opinion, a truly mature and mild child. I listened to her and was overcome with emotion. I hadn't even realized how much my boy has grown and changed, how much time has tempered my feral boy, how easy and joyful our times together now are, until someone else pointed out his genuinely agreeable little persona. Another nurse had met him once before and was thrilled to see him again and commented what fun he was, how quiet and well behaved he was. I was...tearful; and I treasured their comments deep in my heart.
Stepping outside my own limited perspective sheds such a bright light on so many things. Take away? I'm going to try to do this intentionally, regularly, to step outside and look at the bigger view. To live bigger, broader, and with more open eyes. To acknowledge. To 'notice'.
Also? I work with some pretty amazing and kind-hearted people!
He didn't like the car much as an infant. He cried miserably for most all car rides. He didn't like it if our house was noisy and full of people but he did enjoy getting out and people watching. He was always easily over-stimulated and if we were out and in public too long, he fell apart. At the same time, he needed interaction and connection and would get bored if stuck at home too much. Grocery shopping was such an anxiety producing experience, as was the rare occasion we went anywhere in public, that at some point in time it was best to NOT go anywhere with him except a playground or other obviously kid-friendly place...that was enclosed.
When he was 2, he once ran away from me in Home Depot (after first screaming miserably in the cart for far too long and then kicking and hitting and squirming and screaming while held so that I HAD to put him down on the ground) and it was some kind of comedy to chase him: 2 employees, Hannah, and myself all trying to cut him off, round him up, corral him... and him running and shrieking gleefully up and down aisles. He also ran from toddler story time once, shrieking with joy, through the aisles of the quiet library, with me in hot pursuit, red faced and embarrassed. He ran away in church once too - darting like a squirrel in and out of pews, right in the middle of the service, with me hissing thru gritted teeth for him to getbackhererightnowthankyouverymuch! We left the grocery store once also, him in my arms, my shirt half up around my neck exposing my body, him screaming and flailing like a cat getting a bath, just because. He was loud in quiet places, overwhelmed in loud places, he ran near streets and near strangers, he slumped down and wouldn't move in the middle of activity. By the time he was about 2 and a half, we just didn't do much at all. It was too hard.
When he was 5, it was better. Not great, but better. We started going places again. It got easier. He didn't run away, at least, not very often. He was more compliant, and I was better at reading his signals. I was learning him. Finally.
Now that he's 7 and heading into second grade it's... so different. It's more like what I had hoped for. We do a LOT of things and go a LOT of places. Regularly. I didn't realize though, exactly how much my little wild one has changed, until this morning.
Yesterday I had to have him come to my work for a couple hours. Hannah dropped him off and he came up with his backpack full of snacks and toys and sat at the front desk with me. The hour of time that comprises "shift change" on a med surg floor is crazy chaotic. Nurses coming in to get report from nurses leaving, last minute hold ups with discharging patients, last minute rushes to get patients admitted, a post lunch slew of toileting needs and medication changes, phones ringing and call bells sounding and overhead pages going out - it's loud and busy. There are doctors and nurses and aids. They know OF him, and when they see him they want to say hello. And he sat through it all. This morning, a nurse commented on G's behavior from yesterday, saying how amazed she was that he just sat there, played with his toys, ate his snack, watched a little show on my phone, answered politely to all the people stopping by to say hello to him and chat for a second, smiled and joked back at the ones who made time to engage, and was, in her opinion, a truly mature and mild child. I listened to her and was overcome with emotion. I hadn't even realized how much my boy has grown and changed, how much time has tempered my feral boy, how easy and joyful our times together now are, until someone else pointed out his genuinely agreeable little persona. Another nurse had met him once before and was thrilled to see him again and commented what fun he was, how quiet and well behaved he was. I was...tearful; and I treasured their comments deep in my heart.
Stepping outside my own limited perspective sheds such a bright light on so many things. Take away? I'm going to try to do this intentionally, regularly, to step outside and look at the bigger view. To live bigger, broader, and with more open eyes. To acknowledge. To 'notice'.
Also? I work with some pretty amazing and kind-hearted people!
August 4, 2019
Three Years Ago
Three years ago. Three years ago seems like so very long ago - until I look at my child and his skinned up knees and his big brown eyes and hold him on my lap and then I think, "Three years ago was yesterday!"
Facebook gave me a memory today. A memory from three years ago. This is what I posted on Facebook three years ago, today:
And what a terrifying and exciting time it's been! My life has gone through a lot of dramatic changes over the last 10 years but its within these past 3 years that its really begun to settle, to sort itself out, to be balanced in a way it never was before. I haven't enjoyed all the drama and the changes, and honestly I'd rather not have to relive any of it ever again, but I'm grateful for the growth I've experienced, for the time I've had with my son and for his healing which healed us both. Who knows what things will look like in another three years!!
Facebook gave me a memory today. A memory from three years ago. This is what I posted on Facebook three years ago, today:
August 4, 2016
Last winter *G was just 3 and a half I discovered that G had been being mistreated at his daycare. I'll never know the full story - but it happened, and that's all that matters. I pulled him out of that daycare immediately and began looking for a new place. I found a really gentle and encouraging place that seemed to understand the situation and for awhile things were OK but G was really exhibiting a lot of behaviors we couldn't figure out. We did everything we could and worked with his teachers and the director but G was just struggling with interacting with other kids and reacting really strongly when reprimanded; and primarily only at daycare (in hindsight, three years later, we see that he was trying to find his own sense of control and to feel 'big' since he'd been made to feel so helpless and small by adults in the old daycare). He was struggling so much and everyone involved was feeling pretty unhappy so 3 weeks ago I made the decision to leave my job and stay home with him. He only has another year before Kindergarten and he needs this time at home with me to feel safe, to regain trust in adults, to learn that he IS a good kid and worth every second of time I have. I will be able to get back my savings, my retirement, my paycheck - but he will never have another chance to be four and to feel safe and be at home with me. So - today was my last day at work and I'm alternately terrified and excited!
And what a terrifying and exciting time it's been! My life has gone through a lot of dramatic changes over the last 10 years but its within these past 3 years that its really begun to settle, to sort itself out, to be balanced in a way it never was before. I haven't enjoyed all the drama and the changes, and honestly I'd rather not have to relive any of it ever again, but I'm grateful for the growth I've experienced, for the time I've had with my son and for his healing which healed us both. Who knows what things will look like in another three years!!
June 3, 2019
Someone Bring Me a Blanket
When I was married, I used to joke with my husband that when I was old and incapable, he would have to put my make up on for me. The deal was that I would have to remove his nose and ear hair so it seemed pretty fair. I guess we are both off the hook now since the divorce, which also seems pretty fair! As I've gotten older though, putting on makeup has become the least of my concerns when I think about the aging process. Working in a hospital has made it so clear to me that there are more important things to ask a partner to do for you when you can no longer take care of yourself.
To me, one of the most heartbreaking situations I see regularly is when people, especially older people, are alone. A while ago when I was registering patients for surgery it was sometimes frustrating to have an entire posse of family and friends taking up space in the waiting areas for hours at a time, for minor procedures, but in my heart, it was far better than registering a patient for surgery and seeing them come in alone, wait alone, and ultimately leave, alone. Often they wouldn't even have an emergency contact to list. My heart always felt raw after registering those ones. It gave me a chance to offer up a prayer for them, and I was glad to do that one small thing, but the awareness that so many people go through so many experiences in life, alone, pinches my soul.
A patient on my floor died this morning. Alone. Last night I went home and cried about her situation. She was deaf, and blind, and in the process of dying. It wasn't easy and she was alone and I hurt for her. I am hugely grateful for, and in awe of, the nursing staff who advocated mightily on her behalf to make that process easier. I saw them working hard and caring hard and using their hearts as well as their best skills to see that this patient was free from anxiety and pain last night. She did have a husband, but he was also elderly and not able to come often or stay long. The back and forth of getting to the hospital, the long walk from the parking garage to our unit, the hard chairs. It was a lot for him. He would come once a day and sit for as long as he could. He held her hand. He adjusted her blankets. He patted her pillows. He folded a small handmade blanket from home over her chest and tucked it under her chin. He was stoic and expressionless, but he was here. He would check in at the desk when he arrived and would say goodbye when he left. Late last night a nurse called him to let him know her status was changing and that he might want to try and come back. He came with some additional visitors around 7 pm. I'm not sure how long he was able to stay, but I do know that she was alone when she finally passed early this morning.
I often joke about what it will be like when I am unable to care for myself. I joke that my oldest daughter will foot the bill, my oldest son will show up with a secret stash of alcohol, my youngest daughter will be the one actually putting in the work of caring for me, and my youngest son? He'll pop in every once in a while and cause a ruckus before disappearing again. But its not really all that funny. Being single and aging isn't funny at all.
If I am in a hospital, if it's at the end, I wonder if anyone will pat my pillows, hold my hand, or tuck a blanket over me before they leave... I wonder if I will die alone. I'm single and while I know I have a lot of living left to do, I think about the future a lot. Recently I had to assign a health care proxy before I went in for a small medical procedure. I assigned my 21 year old daughter who still lives at home. I'm pretty independent and not worried about being alone right this moment, but it was a little unnerving to ask my 21 year old child to act in my best medical interests in case I was unable to do so. I guess maybe I'll have to tell her to bring me a blanket and hold my hand if it comes to that. She's not the sentimental one of my crew and I might have to leave explicit instructions if I want something like that! And I do - I do want someone to hold my hand and to bring me a blanket. I'd like it to be someone other than whichever nurse is on duty. I'd like it to be someone who loves me. I don't want to die alone, but the reality is that I might. It makes me sad to think about, but I'm willing to lean into this life I have, as it is, and have gratitude for it, as it is. I can pray that when my time comes, I will at least have nurses that are as wonderful as the ones I currently work with and who will advocate for me as fiercely as I watched them advocate for the patient last night. And I can pray that someone will bring me a blanket...
To me, one of the most heartbreaking situations I see regularly is when people, especially older people, are alone. A while ago when I was registering patients for surgery it was sometimes frustrating to have an entire posse of family and friends taking up space in the waiting areas for hours at a time, for minor procedures, but in my heart, it was far better than registering a patient for surgery and seeing them come in alone, wait alone, and ultimately leave, alone. Often they wouldn't even have an emergency contact to list. My heart always felt raw after registering those ones. It gave me a chance to offer up a prayer for them, and I was glad to do that one small thing, but the awareness that so many people go through so many experiences in life, alone, pinches my soul.
A patient on my floor died this morning. Alone. Last night I went home and cried about her situation. She was deaf, and blind, and in the process of dying. It wasn't easy and she was alone and I hurt for her. I am hugely grateful for, and in awe of, the nursing staff who advocated mightily on her behalf to make that process easier. I saw them working hard and caring hard and using their hearts as well as their best skills to see that this patient was free from anxiety and pain last night. She did have a husband, but he was also elderly and not able to come often or stay long. The back and forth of getting to the hospital, the long walk from the parking garage to our unit, the hard chairs. It was a lot for him. He would come once a day and sit for as long as he could. He held her hand. He adjusted her blankets. He patted her pillows. He folded a small handmade blanket from home over her chest and tucked it under her chin. He was stoic and expressionless, but he was here. He would check in at the desk when he arrived and would say goodbye when he left. Late last night a nurse called him to let him know her status was changing and that he might want to try and come back. He came with some additional visitors around 7 pm. I'm not sure how long he was able to stay, but I do know that she was alone when she finally passed early this morning.
I often joke about what it will be like when I am unable to care for myself. I joke that my oldest daughter will foot the bill, my oldest son will show up with a secret stash of alcohol, my youngest daughter will be the one actually putting in the work of caring for me, and my youngest son? He'll pop in every once in a while and cause a ruckus before disappearing again. But its not really all that funny. Being single and aging isn't funny at all.
If I am in a hospital, if it's at the end, I wonder if anyone will pat my pillows, hold my hand, or tuck a blanket over me before they leave... I wonder if I will die alone. I'm single and while I know I have a lot of living left to do, I think about the future a lot. Recently I had to assign a health care proxy before I went in for a small medical procedure. I assigned my 21 year old daughter who still lives at home. I'm pretty independent and not worried about being alone right this moment, but it was a little unnerving to ask my 21 year old child to act in my best medical interests in case I was unable to do so. I guess maybe I'll have to tell her to bring me a blanket and hold my hand if it comes to that. She's not the sentimental one of my crew and I might have to leave explicit instructions if I want something like that! And I do - I do want someone to hold my hand and to bring me a blanket. I'd like it to be someone other than whichever nurse is on duty. I'd like it to be someone who loves me. I don't want to die alone, but the reality is that I might. It makes me sad to think about, but I'm willing to lean into this life I have, as it is, and have gratitude for it, as it is. I can pray that when my time comes, I will at least have nurses that are as wonderful as the ones I currently work with and who will advocate for me as fiercely as I watched them advocate for the patient last night. And I can pray that someone will bring me a blanket...
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