Courage

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.' ” May Anne Radmacher

Sometimes I find it so hard to deal with the emotions that come along with caregiving. I find that most people don't understand...only those who are caregivers or have been seem to instinctively know that I ride a roller coaster of emotions. More and more, I find that many of the things that others think are important, and that I used to care about, strike me as shallow concerns.

I did a lot of crying when my brother had his stroke. But then, I envisioned time together. I still cry over his loss.

I cry as I see Mom go downhill; I grieve for her losses. Although I feel very selfish about it, I grieve for myself.

At the same time, I am so thankful for small acts of kindness and compassion from friends and family. I wonder how many people realize that even small acts of kindness can give another person the courage to keep trying each day. The smile, the kind word, the funny email, the phone call, the hug, the "I care" all help me to face each day and try to find joy in it. All of you are my angels.

Transitions

When Wes had his stroke, I felt like I had been hit upside of the head with a 2 x 4. How could I cope with this? I found myself grieving for the loss of the person he was, having to adjust to a different relationship--one in which I was the adult taking care of a large, lost child.

Somehow, we developed a routine and, even though there were more doctors, more meds to take care of, more juggling of time, everything seemed to work. And Wes seemed to be getting better.

And then, I found one morning that he had passed away during the night. I felt like I had been hit upside of the head with a 2 x 4 again. Had there been something more I could have done? Had I missed something? Had I not been aggressive enough in his care? As I think back on things, I really don't know if I could have done anything more that would have made a difference.

And then, there was the rush to take care of things. Having to pick out a mortuary immediately, having to make funeral arrangements the same day, having to deal with the funeral itself.

And then, having to go back to work. Everything is just supposed to go back to normal. I'm supposed to jump back in and be the person I was before all of this. And I really don't know what I'm doing and why.

Stress

I was watching/listening to our local PBS station the other night while I was getting ready for bed, after having helped Mom with her bath and closed up the house. I listened to a well-known author telling us that there is no stress in the world. It's all in how we decide to react to situations.

I find it hard to believe that this person has ever been in the position that caregivers are in. I can't believe that he has been in the emergency room at 3:00 in the morning with a loved one in incredible pain which no drug can touch....or watched the cognitive and/or physical decline of a loved one....or gone without sleep in order to tend to someone else's needs.

I agree that we can do a great deal to alleviate the stress of many situations. For caregivers, I think this is a constant effort. And when dealing with crisis, or ongoing crises, I don't see how it is possible. When you are in the trenches and bombs are being lobbed at you, it's pretty hard to keep your head up, let alone see the sunlight.

I think that caregivers are a pretty awesome group of people because we manage to hear the bird singing and see the sunlight, at least sometimes. We have no control over the bombs that are lobbed at us or the crises that we face.

I work every day to look for the good. Just the same, saying there is no stress does not make it so.