I am a good son. I am a devoted son. I am a caring son. I am a thoughtful, forward-thinking, emotionally developed, peaceful, and sensitive son. I am willing to watch illness and decay unfold in front of me. I knowingly came home for an extended period of time to witness my father’s daily decay and my mother’s second round of chemotherapy rip into every aspect of her life. I willingly put my job, my two cats, my theatre company, my artistic pursuits, setting up my new apartment and my friendships in Los Angeles on hold so that I could live in my parents’ home for six weeks to care for them in any way I could.
Nobody can ever take this away from me. But sometimes I forget them myself so I need to remind myself of what I’ve sacrificed and what I’ve accomplished here. And why I came in the first place. I came without hesitation because I knew it was the right thing to do. I came because I knew my parents would need my help and might not have the ability to ask for me to make such a sacrifice. I came because I knew that I’d never regret serving them in this way but that I might regret NOT making this trip to visit with them when I had the opportunity.
And I made this trip knowing that it would be a defining journey for me, one of the hardest, most challenging, gut-wrenching and potentially rewarding chapters of my own life. I didn’t make this journey because I wanted or needed my parents approval or permission: I made it because I knew how rewarding it might be for them and for me if I trusted myself and made the sacrifice.
What I didn’t understand - and what I couldn’t have predicted - was the grueling, day-to-day hardship that both of my parents face: the constantly changing restrictions on their physical abilities; the anger they have about having to face untimely and unfair diseases; the anger and impatience that they direct at each other as they try to cope with one another’s restrictions and inabilities; and the surprising amounts of anger, impatience and stubbornness they direct at me because I’m the closest care-giver they have. It's because I’m their child that they know it’s safe to yell and scream and bitch and complain to me in ways that they cannot to the insurance-provided home care workers that come into and out of the house every day or to some of their friends.
My closeness means that I’m a safe target. And I’ve certainly spent some time on the firing line, I’ll be honest.
This is why, no matter who you are, no matter how close or distant you may be emotionally from those for whom you care, no matter how trained you are to handle disease and pain and suffering, you must still take such incredibly good care of yourself. You must take time for yourself each day to unwind and decompress. You must eat healthy foods and exercise and get enough sleep every night and treat yourself well.
And some days I’ve accomplished this long list of self-care items. But some days not. Some days I just don’t have the energy or time to give myself everything I need. I know that. And it’s OK. I just do the best I can and then... tomorrow is another day.
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