The curiosness of existence

Living with death is a curious process. The blind panic and huge waves of despondency when Mom was first diagnosed have long since quieted.

The hollowness of disorientation that comes with moving has slowly been removed as we’ve finally settled in as a family under one roof again. Those first 2 years were rough, though the huge changes were oddly made easier by the pandemic lockdown.

Now it’s just a matter of day to day living. Mom’s sudden new symptoms (dehydration or new spread?) just have us waiting it out rather than calling the oncologist or the palliative care team.

Mom In Law is here now, too, though in rather similar abrupt manner to our reunion with Mom. Stroke instead of cancer. The aftercare revealed an aneurysm separately. Though treated, she’s here to stay.

Teens were adjusting…until one wasn’t. Suicide ideations and self harm moments have joined my family. I take no-one for granted for a single moment. There’s no real time to fully release anxiety; just moments when I realize I’m growing callouses to protect sanity.

What is it to be a full time caregiver? It’s no more than I’ve always done, only now for beloved family around the clock instead of strangers 5 minutes at a time. Yet the surreal moments when I think of the different lives rooms in a house will live once a fiercely loved inhabitant of those rooms dies is so very different from anything I’ve experienced before. It can’t be unique; I’m not different from millions of others who have done or are doing the same for their families.