I have always responded to emotional crisis by withdrawing and becoming hyper vigilant and self protecting. I react decisively and without regard for anyone else when so challenged. I don't like to be comforted during these times, I keep people at a distance, almost like I will fall apart if someone touches me. I see a lot of that in this time of introspection, I am someone who must work through these things alone, in my own way. Writing helps me as it is like a release into the ether's of otherwise unspeakable feelings and emotions.
My friend's father passed last week and the parallels of our lives and situations is uncanny. He took care of his dad for many years and the emptiness and sense that you have lost a piece of yourself seems to be universal. It is like you have lost your identity while gaining great insight into the inner complexities of your loved one. I was/am humbled by my father's faith, integrity and toughness as was my friend at his Dad's passing. I had the privilege of visiting his Dad a few weeks before his passing and had the same impression of him as of my own Dad. They really developed character in those WWII era personalities. Both men had character and were characters. They remained tough right to the end, no whining about being sick, no blaming God for the painful realities of a diseased body, no loss of that charmingly dark sense of humor that the Irish are noted for. They were men I admire. At times I wonder if I will go out whining like a newly acquired puppy on his first night alone or like these men. I have a lot of work to do to be like that. A lot of growing up to do.
Because of my own introspective discomfort I have become hyper sensitive to Ma's experience and her regular foibles. She is talking in her sleep to someone and is often disoriented. She has been crying a lot and I don't know how to comfort her other than to leave her alone. I have never been overly affectionate with Ma and I really don't understand her way of looking at things. I am more like my father, a prisoner of guarded emotional expression. The things I do regularly have become more difficult in these last weeks and some minor, almost undetectable level of self pity is just below the surface. I have to remind myself that I have the life I have chosen and just do the things I need to do to make her journey to her final reward as pleasant as possible. I must confess that I have a more than usual aversion to cleaning the toilet, bleaching the stains out of the sink, preparing food, and listening to Ma's disjointed logic and repetitive reminiscing about her life in the 1950's. I am truly frazzled. In this life I have taken many lonely journeys within my own consciousness and it never matters whether I am alone or with friends and loved ones, I scrutinize and evaluate myself in private. I believe I have been blessed (cursed?) with an objective ability to define who I am and to be accepting of all my personal eccentricities and shortcomings. I like that work eccentric, it is a nice way to say neurotic and flawed.
I am of that age where I, too, am getting short (running out of time) and wonder if I have done enough for others to have someone around to clean my toilet and listen to my disjointed ramblings. I hope to be blissfully unaware of my limitations and surroundings when that time comes. These experiences with my parents have become the fabric of my life. There hasn't been enough time to really involve myself in my own life and I hope not to regret that as the years pass.
