{{{Sean}}}}

Even in a clear-cut relationship (such as, dude, my MOM) sometimes you need to back off and give yourself some breath during a long illness with no end in sight. Sometimes that's harder than being there. Just keep your head above water.

Trudy is wise.

My dad has mentally deteriorated in the 4 years (!) since his first stroke. While he had moments of confusion at the beginning, he now has moments of clarity.

The hardest things for my mom (being the primary caregiver) have been doing things for herself. Putting my dad in a nursing home just about killed her, but she would have literally worked herself to death if she hadn't. He now considers the nursing home "home" and feels safer there.

She has a hard time not going to visit him and sit with him every single day. But, she needs to get away and do things for herself, too. Even if it's just sleep in and recoup. She feels guilty not being with him.

But, in all honesty, my dad's sense of time is not even close to being real, and he doesn't know when she's been there and when she hasn't. She can tell him he was there yesterday when she wasn't and he doesn't know any different.

All of this doesn't make her feel any less guilty for not visiting him every day.

I guess what I'm getting at is that the situation sucks. Feeling guilty for not being with her is totally understandable and normal. But, you need to engage for some self-care, too, or you won't be any good to anyone.

Oh Sean. At sometimes its more painful to be AWAY even when she's not lucid. I understand that. Sometimes its more painful to be there. It's really really ok for you to come from the logic of "which is going to hurt less right. this. minute." and then do that.

::keeps snuggling sean::

I guess what I'm getting at is that the situation sucks. Feeling guilty for not being with her is totally understandable and normal. But, you need to engage for some self-care, too, or you won't be any good to anyone.

Points upwards.

If you burn yourself out now, you're not going to be able to be when she *is* back to lucid. You need to set limits on yourself right now to force yourself to recharge.

What they said!

{{{{{Sean}}}}} I'm worn out from just two hospital visits this weekend, so I can't imagine how you must be feeling. Take care of yourself, please.

We went to Boston to see J today. He looked wonderful, if a bit tired. No one gets sleep at the hospital with people waking them up at 3AM. The only time he got upset was when they had to flush his IV, which seemed to hurt. But overall he's doing very well and was happy with his presents.

sj, I'm so glad to hear that J is doing well!! Continued healing and health~ma to him.

And now for a Happy Break! I have to share this nibblet from my friend I's Flickr stream, which she uses as a blog. There's a picture of her three-year-old son L. in dark clothes and a cape pointing ominously at the camera, and this is the caption:

L. is always proclaiming himself to be particular superheroes with particular superpowers. This works out well: we loved Mystery Men, and it's like living with an ongoing live performance of the film. He has recently declared himself Cheeseman, with the power to cover people in cheese, and Scream Man, with the power to scream very loudly and make everyone leave the room (which he demonstrated, and it turns out: yes, he is that superhero, and he does possess that superpower).

The other day he announced a superhero identity that made me think he'll probably acquire his parents' predilection for making lists of things to do:

“I am a superhero, and my name is Super Done, because I am DONE with things. I’m going to the DONE-geon now to fight bad guys. That’s why my name is Done Man. SuperDone, Done Man… to the rescue!”

And one more for good measure--this is under a picture of L. looking extremely happy as he sits next to a skeleton, and I know the caption will make Jilli a happy Fairy Gothmother:

When L. was an infant, I read Sarah Vowell’s Assassination Vacation and fell in love with her three-year old nephew Owen, whom she describes as “the most Hitchcockian preschooler I ever met.” (“He’s three,” she writes. “He knows maybe ninety words and one of them is ‘crypt.’) It’s a few years later, and L. has wound up with a morbid streak of his own that I find just as charming as I’d earlier found Owen’s. He’s a budding Burton/Elfman fan who sings “This Is Halloween” at top volume on the playground. He delights in creepy stories, in monsters and ghosts and all things spooky. He does a very credible Draculian “I vant to suck your blood!”

Many years ago, my mother gave me a tabletop-sized anatomical skeleton model. I had it in the storage area off of the walk-in closet in our bedroom, which you get to through this half-sized door with a hinky latch that never closes firmly. L. followed me into the closet earlier this summer. The storage area door had come unlatched and was hanging open. He saw the little skeleton guy standing in there and, as you might well imagine, was curious about it. I brought it out, showed him how the skeleton guy worked, and satisfied his curiosity.

…For a little while, at least. Before much time had passed, he was asking about it again. I brought it down to the living room so he could play with it to his heart’s content. …And did he! He immediately dubbed his new friend “Mister Skeleton” and for about a week, he insisted that Mister Skeleton accompany him everywhere. He carried on whispered conversations with Mister Skeleton. He dragged Mister Skeleton around the house by one arm, like a twisted Halloween version of Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh.

Mister Skeleton had to sit at the table with us to eat lunch. Mister Skeleton had to sit on the loveseat next to us and read stories. Mister Skeleton had to go play outside with us in the sandbox. We forgot about Mister Skeleton one day, and I noticed several hours later that Mister Skeleton was still sitting out in the sandbox by his lonesome, surrounded by empty pails and buckets. I wonder what the neighbors must think of us.

I think msbelle aspires to be Super Done.

::steals rest of pixie's story to file away and use in best selling children's novel::

You'd be stealing I's story, not mine, and she's a writer already...so I think you'd be out of luck!

Too funny, though, aren't they? I adore her stories about L.

Sean, god, that sounds like the Awfullest Shit Ever.I'm so sorry.