humans that we are, we can feel multiple and seemingly opposing feelings at the same time! How little sense that seems to make and how very confusing. But contained within simple acceptance is freedom.
You are free to feel exactly what you feel. There is no good or bad, no right or wrong. Feel what you feel. Express it by talking or writing or just sit in the mix of your feelings, whether exhilarating or debilitating or in between. Simply recognize emotions for what they are—teachers. In time you will learn their lessons. For now, there is no need to rush into understanding.
Just feel what you feel.
Nobody has ever measured,
not even poets,
how much the heart can hold
− Zelda Fitzgerald
…
Chapter 3
Changes at Home
Upon returning home from the trip with our son, I learned that my parents had slipped significantly further down the slope of aging while I was away. One of my sisters, Sanctimonious Shirley, (who knew best about everything because of her perceived extra special God-hotline) had planned one of her brief rare visits in their home. Her intention had been to leave after just a few days, but as Dad was ailing, she extended her stay until I returned. Mild discomfort had evolved into constant pain and Dad was miserable.
Sanctimonious Shirley, usually piously quiet, left long winded messages on my answering machine about our parents’ situation, including her opinion about the cause of Dad’s symptoms.
"I need you to go to the copy store and pick up the pages of information that my husband is faxing to us. He has spent hours researching one of Dad's prescription drugs that we are certain is causing his problems. With my husband's extensive chemistry background, I'm sure that he is correct in his conclusion about this situation."
Not leaving my mother out of the equation, Sanctimonious Shirley continued, "Mother is not doing that well either. She's getting weaker and I'm noticing that simple tasks are sometimes well beyond her comprehension or ability. Each time I see her she is more confused, but Dad's issues seem to have somehow propelled her into being nearly immobilized. This situation is getting worse by the day. Dad is becoming more impatient with Mom as her confusion increases and Mom doesn't understand why he is so short with her."
Nowhere in my sister's plethora of observations about Mom and Dad did she bother to ask me, "How are you?" My entire life had changed in ten days. Emptiness occupied the space where my son had been and his room was suddenly void of his spirit as well as his possessions. From the day my sister left home at the age of 21, she required understanding from me that she couldn’t help with our parents because any situation in her own family superseded the needs of everyone else. I was expected to acknowledge and accept the black and white instructions God delivered regarding her responsibility and priorities. She showed no compassion for the sudden shift in my world and dismissed my aching soul as an unimportant personal issue. Instead, upon my return home, it was understood that I would immediately assume the role of designated problem solver for our parents.
The papers from Sanctimonious Shirley's husband were filled with technical jargon that no one could understand except Dad's physician. Talking with the doctor was hopeless because he was the one who prescribed the medication, and Dad would never question his doctor. My dad was part of the generation that revered anyone with education greater than his own which translated into unwavering trust and acceptance that a doctor would never give him something that could hurt him.
Frustrated, with no cooperation from Dad, Sanctimonious Shirley decided to go home, just as Exhausted Teresa (my outspoken, but ever-fatigued sister) arrived. As she was prone to do, Exhausted Teresa asked our parents a couple of questions, drew her own conclusions and continued a laundry list of instructions for me.
Exhausted Teresa’s opinions trumped anyone in conversation, but her smile and infectious laugh somehow softened her tone and could draw most anyone to her point of view. Her years of being an award-winning top salesperson boosted her opinion that she was right far more often than she was wrong, making any sort of communication with her a challenge. All my sisters lived less than a two-hour drive away from our parents, but this distance gave each of them permission to insist that I, being the in-town daughter, was to be "responsible for our parents." An infrequent trip home gave each of my sisters an inflated strength of wisdom and power to observe. Certainly, there had been occasions when an extra set of eyes and ears proved helpful. This time, however, in spite of my shattered heart, my sisters were not only unwilling to give me any space, they were extremely annoyed by my lack of communication with them. I needed time to grieve the profound change in my life and to grasp the plight of my parents, not a committee meeting with my sisters where they doled out opinions that always felt more like orders.
A few days after Exhausted Teresa’s arrival, Dad’s pain worsened significantly and she decided to take him to the emergency room. Exhausted Teresa phoned repeatedly, leaving messages on my answering machine, because she wanted me to go with them to the hospital. I assumed that she was capable of dealing with the situation, so I took an afternoon for myself. Every fiber of my being recognized that as soon as Exhausted Teresa left, the task of caring for our parents would fall in my lap. Dad’s emergency room visit resulted in a diagnosis of Polymyalgia and a prescription for steroids. As soon as she returned home with Dad, Exhausted Teresa phoned me and elaborated about her disappointment with me for not being more supportive of our parents and chastised me for leaving her alone to deal with everything. After enduring her verbal lashing, I asked what the doctor said about dad.
"If you had been with us, you could have heard that for yourself, you know." My sister continued, "We saw the doctor on call and he said that he wasn't absolutely certain of Dad's condition, but explained that the new medication should impact his pain level quickly. If it doesn't, he will have to undergo additional testing. All the doctor really did was send Dad back home with paperwork and a prescription that now I have to go to the pharmacy to get filled."
Exhausted Teresa droned on about our parents, complaining about Dad's attitude, Mom's incompetence and insisted that something be done about their situation. Clearly, my sister only wanted to rehash Mom and Dad's increasing needs. She expressed the same concerns repeatedly with different adjectives, just in case I missed the importance of her opinion. Worn down by Exhausted Teresa's words, I decided it was time to speak with our parents. Although Exhausted Teresa was still physically present in their home, to me she was irrelevant. She would be going back to her home in a neighboring state, leaving the blanket of responsibility for our parents resting on me.
Late in the afternoon I arrived at our parents' home, and found my dad reclining in his favorite chair. After kissing his forehead, I asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Not much different,” he sighed, heavily.
“I thought the emergency room doctor said that with the medication, you would be getting some relief from the pain by now. Do you think we need to call him?” I asked.
Seeing my confusion, my father said, “I don’t have the prescription yet.”
The emergency room ordeal occurred in the early morning hours. It was now 5:00 p.m., nearly ten hours later, and the prescription, meant to give fast-acting relief, had yet to be filled?
My sister, seeing a crimson flush crawling up my neck, quickly explained, “I was just getting ready to go to the pharmacy to fill the prescription. You couldn't
