You never know exactly what lies beyond the horizon on the caregiving road.
One year ago, in the ultimate act of self-care, I abandoned this blog. Frankly, after all I’d been through during the previous several years (which saw the passing of both my parents in-law, my brother-in-law, my grandson, and my dad), I needed some time to focus on myself, process my grief, and get a grip on my new full-time career: freelance writing. In April, 2012, I quit my job as a nurse to freelance full-time. I knew the flexibility would give me more time to take care of my mom, but I also knew I’d have to scramble to find work and replace my nursing income. And so, I mothballed The Cheerful Caregiver temporarily.
Now, a year later, I’m ready to resurrect this blog. I’ve missed you, my valued readers. I’ve missed your comments and input. I hope you’ve missed my blog posts a little bit, too.
I’m back with a renewed spirit of commitment to promoting the welfare of caregivers everywhere. I’m back to continue spreading this message: If you don’t care for yourself first, you won’t be fit to care for anyone else.
Let me fill you in on what’s occurred over the past 12 months. My mom is still living independently, a quarter-mile away from my house, but she’s declining. She now takes all her evening meals with my husband, Lee, and me. I go to her house one day a week to do her dishes and a bit of cleaning. I pay all her bills now. She started using a walker recently. When we chat, she uses vague end-of-life language. For example, she wants to have tea at the local tea room every month because, she says, she doesn’t know how many more times she’ll be able to go. Today, she drove herself to the grocery store, then couldn’t remember where she’d parked the car. She’s begun to forget how to use the phone.
In short, I can see the future. I remember taking this road with Dad. I remember all the twists, turns, and speed bumps we hit. And I remember when we reached the end of the road. It’s time for me to take a deep breath, take the wheel, and once again help my parent navigate this final trip.
I’m glad I have you with me.
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