I've started and deleted this post five times now since Mother's Day. I had wanted to keep the joy I feel about painting and the blog community somehow separate from the realities of my day to day life. But my painting--or more to the point, my struggle to write and to paint lately--is completely tied to the sense of overwhelm that I feel caring for my mom. She's lived with me for 10 years, was formally diagnosed in 2006, and since Christmas has needed help with almost all tasks. I used to take heart that at least she remembered my name. On Mother's Day, we took a short walk in the park, and she asked what my name is. If this sounds like a bid for sympathy, it's not. Just my admission that I can't keep my life compartmentalized, nor handle it all alone anymore. There are days lately when I feel I'm standing at the edge of a dark abyss, screaming into an empty universe. I know that sounds a tad dramatic. I won't bore you with the details of what life is like other than to say imagine trying to explain what Google is to someone who doesn't remember what tuna fish is, and repeating "it's 4:00. it's Thursday, the clock's in front of you...it's 4:02..it's still Thursday...I didn't change the station, it's a commercial, it's 4:05...." all day, every day to someone you miss with all your heart. A very dear friend is currently helping me interview in-home agencies, so I can reclaim a few hours a week for work and for friends. Thank God for friends.
I know I'm not the only one dealing with a difficult situation, illness or loss. Thanks for bearing with me through this post. I've also received some really nice blog awards, that I promise I will post tomorrow.
The good news is, Mom always has been, and remains, except for a few tantrums over commercials and my not allowing her to get a riding mower, a cheerful soul.
A few photos...
Thailand
Mom, her sister Nancy, my grandmother, Zena
aboard Tres Jolie, Chesapeake Bay
This Mother's Day, in front of our house
Posts
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