Looking back over time, I've always been comfortable with being a loner. When I moved away from home, I'd had a few brief roommates in my new city but mostly you'd find me like that image of every little loner kid in the playground...all by myself, but out of sight. But truly I'm an odd blend of extrovert in a crowd and hermit everywhere else. But I acknowledge that there have been far too many times when being the loner didn't make me a good friend or even a good daughter. I was bad about holidays, birthdays or even keeping in touch with folks. If there was a rock to hide under when it came to getting together with friends, I'd be happier under that rock. Funny how I'm more comfortable with those I barely know than with those who know me fairly well.
Today, as I tried to piece together some things in my home to make it more of a home for two, I put on some Earth, Wind and Fire and began to sing along as memories from back in the day flooded in. Of course that meant I stopped to look through old photos (so...not much was accomplished). Then I thought of an old friend, deejay, song writer, music producer, Eddie "Eaze" Coleman. Like so many of my old friends, we only keep in touch on Facebook. Eddie was one of the first people I met when I moved to my new city. I don't remember how we met or exactly when but I remember how comfortable he made me feel in the recording studio when I was usually a messy ball of nerves. He got me to sing like I didn't know was possible for me. I surprised myself (and truthfully him too). Thinking of Eddie made me go on Facebook to reach out to him. Eddie's last post was December 31, 2018. That was odd, I thought. He was an outspoken man with plenty to say about our current political climate. Quiet, Eddie wasn't. Looking through that last post, my fears were confirmed. I was almost 4 months past his death.
Seeing myself in the pages of a magazine...so to speak...
So, while in line at Whole Foods, I looked through a copy of Psychology Today. In this month's edition, there's currently an article about this journey of those of us acting as caretaker to our aging parents. The author speaks of the emotional roller coaster from guilt to anger and everything in between. She feels guilt because her parent died and she feels she missed the signs. I've felt this guilt when, as it turns out, my mom's body was shutting down from a UTI (a couple of times) and I missed it (both times). Today I wondered if on the weekend of our flu-like shenanigans I missed something then too.
So, regarding anger, I've had plenty of angry hot bursts that seem to come from nowhere at all. But during those times (like this morning), I am mad as hell. I'm mad but truthfully I'm not even sure why I'm mad or what I'm really mad about. But do stay out of my way at those times.
But the guilt...
I feel off mentally and guilty for not knowing Eddie died. I feel guilty for this loner in me who prefers being alone, going places alone, doing things on my own...alone. I feel guilty for not reaching out to my friends over the years. I feel guilty for not being better prepared to take care of my mom and for being broke more times than I care to admit. I feel guilty for never being much of a homemaker and for faking the whole homemaker thing ... like I am now.
My mom's in my care and that dominates everything. And I hate it, but I know it's what's kept her alive this long. She was quickly heading out of this planet if left like she was. So, I feel guilty for hating having to do it. But to tell the truth, in all of this, I am not fully taking care of me. I almost feel invisible.
But tonight I'm doing a "me-time" thing. I'm on my way, right now, to play volleyball. But in the spirit of not taking care of myself, I'm going out to play on a foot I somehow injured that hurts like a mugga-fugga. I feel guilty for that. I said yes to tonight's game and seriously I have no idea how I can stand on this foot on the court...so what about all that volleyballing stuff: bending, squatting, quick bursts, jumping, running? Ugh. I wish I said no. Sort of...
So, after the game...
My foot's still attached to my body. And I had mad fun. And even though my weight is up, and my mind is heavy, I played a bit like my old self. I didn't spike like myself (not really) but I sure did dig the ball like a ballin' libero pro. Bring it!!!!
Then guilt, or something like it, invaded my headspace again...
After the game, as 12 middle aged men and women made their way onto the oddly long elevator, I learned another friend, a volleyball comrade, died. Peter Lem was a really nice guy who is certainly hard for anybody to forget since he put nearly an entire roll of sport's tape on his fingers before each and every game. It was something unique and special to Peter alone. Peter, who I thought was named Victor all of these years but who smiled, hugged me just the same even though I often called him the wrong name, played a solid competitive game every week. He was a perfect blend of nice guy but fierce competitor. Talking about the tape made us all laugh a little bit on the elevator ride down.
In one day, I'd learned I'd lost two friends over the past few months.
But this full year and some months of taking care of my mom, I realize lost something in me too. I've maybe played 3 games of volleyball in an entire year when I'm used to playing once or more a week.
As I walked the streets alone to the train after the game, forgoing an opportunity to hang out with my volleyball buddies, it occured to me I've walked this same path after a volleyball game for nearly 30 years. Over those years I've shared an after game drink here or there, but I've mostly left the gang of volleyball players and walked this route alone. It was funny to notice the changes along the walk: new buildings, restaurants closed, new ones opened, the street is still a one way going north, the people are still all age ranges: some young, some older -- like me.
I guess all of this adds up to the joyless parts of growing older: parents become like children, friends pass away or divorce, places change but really are kind of the same, the seasons keep changing in the rhythmic way they do, and I too am truly growing older. It was a rather lonely walk tonight. Someday I won't be able to do it like I do now. My volleyball days might be numbered...just not for right now. I am sorry to have not had the opportunity to speak one more time to Eddie or Peter. I want to vow too not to allow my care of my mom to consume me, but I struggle to keep that vow. Something always comes up and I grow more and more tired.
But on a cheerier note...
I practiced a wee bit of self care this weekend. I went off with a friend without inviting my mom. I did have to slip out the door in order to hang with my friend, but once away I hung for a few hours then slipped back in. I've learned it's easier to go quietly and come back than to explain to my mom. Sometimes explaining works and sometimes it turns into something that exhausts me. I've also cut back in accepting some weekday jobs this week so that I can work in my home without my mom being here. While she's away, I clean, organize, dance, sing, go for a walk, and nap. Being home alone has become my chance to exhail, to just breathe. It's my temporary sanctuary.
I'm just writing to keep from losing it.