I'm exhausted.
Not the kind of tired after you have run a race, the one with aching legs and a sweaty brow.
Nor the one where you need dream-free sleep for a few days and then feel rejuvinated.
No, this is the state of fatigue that ebbs at every internal and external part of who you are.
It wears at your soul.
And in this exhausted state I am finding disillusion and apathy and mucus.
But in this current position of forgetting words and missing cues and juggling schedules I have also discovered something stronger, something unexpected.
These past few months have been my first experience with caretaking; in autumn playing the role of recovering patient and more recently taking on the title of nurse for my healing Grandma.
I have struggled on both sides.
As a person in need I constantly felt like a burden, felt as if people were wasting their time on me, which made it difficult for me to graciously recieve love. Through family and friends and flowers I was transformed into a more accepting Taker, a more appreciative Comrade, a more understanding Daughter. I can now say "Thank You" with a more astute recognition of who I am thanking and what I am thanking them for.
I can accept love through help.
When my housemate, the lady I know more formally as Grandma, took a turn for the worse a few weeks ago, it was an undisputed knowledge that I would be there to take care of her. Not to "return the favor" of the countless hours she spent meeting my needs as a patient, simply because I love her.
I can give love through help.
Accept love. Give love.
... but is that all there is to it?
My good friends Laura and Yoon Fow have what I consider to be one of the most stress-filled, under-appreciated, undoubtedly difficult professions. These two have dedicated years to working with and caring for the basic needs of a group of mentally ill and emotionally disturbed adults. They clock in long hours to see that all their patients get a healthy routine; meals, medication, entertianment, sleep. They have both been physically attacked and emotionally cut-down. They have had to do bizarre things and come up with crazy regulations to ensure the safety of their community.
Laura and Yoon Fow, and the many others in their line of work, know the meaning of exhausted.
Anyone can see that as caretakers they are giving love. And I'm sure it isn't as obvious (to them or to us) that they are recieving love, but I know there are moments they feel it.
Accept love. Give love.
But there has got to be more.
When you are looking after the well-being of another person every part of you is engaged. In the past few days my hearing has become that of a Scotts Valley deer; in the middle of the night my ears catch every little cough that comes from the bedroom next door. My eyes have grown into the size of a Crestline owl and I can see even the tiniest piece of fuzz on the floor that might cause one to slip. I'm acquiring the stealth of an Oakhurst mountain lion as I silently watch from around corners and through open doors while Grandma sits and reads and sleeps.
I am turning into a caretaking beast!
Which is why I was so surprised that my animal instinct slowly morphed into a sluggish, biting, preschooler with a cold.
After doctors appointments and making meals and running errands I hit a wall. And the love that I was pouring out continued, but my actions became mixed with bitterness. I started to dislike Grandma's body for trying to rebel against her. I started to question the medications she took. I started to distrust my own intuition and ability to help. I love Grandma so much that I was starting to hate everything around her that wasn't quickening her recovery.
So I sneezed and I snarled at anyone or anything that tried to come help her.
This morning, as we sat across the living room from each other, each with a box of tissues and a magazine in hand, I realized Grandma wasn't reading. She was looking over at the fireplace with a far-off daze. I located the nearest phone in my peripheral vision, in case it was time to call 9-1-1 again, and started to stand up.
She looked over at me and sighed. "I am so content to sit here right now." And went back to her Guideposts article.
And that is when I realized what I was missing. I was unhappy with everything she was going through while she was glad to be in a warm house with a cup of coffee. She was glad to be healing with something to read and a person to talk to.
Contentment.
So I am releasing the wild animal back to its' respective places and allowing myself to regress into normal task-oriented worry-prone slightly-germaphobic yet ever-helpful Caitlin and finding some peace in this situation.
Because if Laura and Yoon Fow and Grandma are satisfied I should be, too.
Accept love. Give love. Find contentment in both.
