I’m sitting in the parking lot of a local park like a creeper which is something I wouldn’t be doing if it weren’t raining which it is, and has been, which is making it hard to look on the bright side of things.
Things like my having to call an ambulance for my gasping and uncomfortable dad after my mom cheerily left. “Call the doctor honey, dad fell this morning and I’m worried about his ribs!”
Things like spending the better part of the last four days in the hospital keeping him company even though I haven’t been to work for more than a couple of hours this month.
Things like a text from my mother at 1am telling me that she couldn’t spend the morning with my dad and would I please followed by a last minute call to say that he was probably being discharged and couldn’t I go because, well, she just can’t.
She can’t. She can’t do anything. Follow instructions (mom, don’t go back to your house, I’ll take care of it). Keep her new house clean (mom, where is the walker for dad? under that heap of…things?). Keep her wits together (mom, we’ll find his wallet, relax, it’s in the house. mom, stop trying to flip the bed over.). Be there for my dad (mom, why aren’t you going to come say goodnight to dad or have dinner with him?) Be there at all (mom, you’re not dressed, or rather you’re half dressed. mom, you can’t leave without shoes. mom, please open your eyes so you can help me pack a bag for dad).
I need her to pull it together. Somehow. My wife and I moved them to an apartment last week. Her sister and our friends chipped in to pack boxes and watch our daughter. We packed everything when she left the house for a hotel, leaving dishes in the sink and blood on the bathroom wall. We unpacked everything before she walked into the new place so she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. Yesterday she drove an hour to her old house “to get dish tabs” and even though she realized on her way out of town that she could just go to the grocery, she still went. My sister came for 24 hours to get the dog and in the process stirred enough around that she snapped my mom out of the carefully complacent place I’d settled her into and suddenly she was 16 places at once and doing everything poorly. She won’t set up an appointment with a psychiatrist even though the office is just waiting (I’m just too busy to do that, she says). She won’t take a breath (I have so much to do, she says, while doing nothing at all). She’s letting the crazy spill all over everything and asking me to mop up the mess.
I’m stretched about as far as I can go. Well, I thought I’d reached that point already but here I am tapping into something more so clearly things are capable of getting worse, I’m capable of handling worse. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could be as fragile as she and my dad are.
And so, I’m in this park. Eating a sandwich I don’t like because it was the thing advertised as a deal and my capacity for complicated choices, like sandwiches, ran out yesterday. Watching the water splash onto the empty basketball court and wondering how deep this reserve really is and how I can possibly replenish it.