Yesterday the world was filled with color and thermometers soared to 80 degrees. Hearts were light and all was well with the world. Today...where did all of the color go?
That is a metaphor. I recall the wonderful, warm memories of my youth and motherhood...and daughterhood...womanhood. I look from this special place to my mother and the direction my life is still taking. I look from this special place to my daughters and the direction each of their lives is taking. I've decided to just live for each day. Have some long-range goals and hold onto the dreams, but just take one day at a time. I want to live each day to the fullest, just like the song...Live Like You Were Dyin'.
Mom cried when I visited her early this week. She hates what is happening to her. She remembers her doctor saying to her, "You used to have such a good brain." She has fixated on that statement and it haunts her. And I think, as smart as her doctor is, sometimes he says stupid things that would be better left unspoken.
She still crochets. I told her long ago, as long as she is crocheting I don't have to worry about her. Dad has often complained about the hours she spends crocheting. And I've told him countless times to let her do it. If it helps to keep her brain alive, it is a good thing. A year ago she was still crocheting complicated advanced patterns. She makes attempts now, but spends hours tearing out and crocheting again to complete the projects. Now she is working on a design of her own made with the simple granny square.
What I know is that she and Dad are not going to be able to live alone for much longer. I think it's time for DH and I to consider moving in with them so they can stay in their home. Dad is trying valiantly to handle everything, but he isn't getting any younger, either. He needs some help.
A couple of friends keep telling me I shouldn't have to take care of my parents. I don't understand. My parents struggled through difficult financial times to take care of us. My mother lost sleep at night when we were sick. My parents have always been there for me when I needed them. Do I have a lesser obligation than they did? How many times did Mom say, "Let me help you now because the day will come when I'll need you to help me"? And don't I want my children to have the same compassion for me? Then I owe compassion to these two special people who brought me into this world, have loved me unselfishly for so long.
It's a gray day in Northeast Ohio. If the sunshine doesn't return on its own, I may have to get out my paint and brushes and put color back into the world around me.
There's a metaphor in that statement, too.
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