Friday, December 31, 2004
Night before last I was so tired and so overwhelmed I was afraid I would die in my sleep.
"Afraid" is the wrong word. I was hoping I'd die in my sleep. Die out of this situation. Die out of my mistakes and my successes; my fears and the constant, gnawing need to be fierce; die of out having to negotiate the world on not only my behalf but my mother's; die out of having to deal with business and simultaneously hating it; die out of always having to guard against my mother being taken advantage of; die out of everything and let someone else clean up whatever mess I'd left, knowing that whomever took over wouldn't consider it a mess but a challenge. Die out of all these stupid, ridiculous, stay-alive "growth challenges".
Autopsy conclusion: Cessation of Inspiration, Undetermined Origin.
I "thought" about it for a long time after retiring, considering what affect this would have on my mother's circumstances; how her life would be upended and overhauled by the arrangements my death would make necessary. Initially, under the assumption that she'd discover me dead in bed and call 911 and then one or more of my sisters, she'd be alone and floundering in the house for a good 24 hours, maybe more, probably soaked to the gills with urine, her blood sugar out of control, assuming that she figured out or "remembered" how to prepare food; chances are she'd eat condiments, pickles, olives, cheese and left over cheesecake out of the refrigerator. She'd probably "nap" on the sofa, soaking it with her urine. She wouldn't bathe, she wouldn't take her meds, she wouldn't change her clothes, she might attempt to get the mail and fall, crawling her way back to the house if she didn't accidentally lock herself out, she may not hear the phone to answer it, she probably wouldn't even realize she had to feed and water The Little Girl. Once discovered and secured, she'd move in with one (or more, perhaps in shifts) of my sisters. Soon thereafter, as her medical and life management became overwhelming for one or more of them, she'd probably go to a nursing home. Everything I imagined strifed and stung as the possible scenarios flooded me, but, oh, I was so, so tired, so incredibly tired, I decided I didn't care, everything would turn out "fine" because it is my mother I'd be leaving and everything always turns out fine for her in her mind. And, anyway, I'd be dead, unable to do anything, so one way or another, whether death is our annihilation or our introduction into some other of an infinite number of systems, I wouldn't worry and I could rest.
By the time I reached the "rest" phase of my imaginings I decided I'd better arise and make sure phone numbers were handy for her at her usual sitting place when she awakens. As it happened, she, after having drunk a lot of tea that evening before retiring, was arising to go to the bathroom. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I lightly cleaned her, checked her bed (which was still dry), changed out her underwear and settled her back in bed. Then I figured I'd better prepare her, just in case.
"Mom," I said, "I've been thinking about it and we need to review what you need to do if you should ever awaken and I died in bed during the night."
Curiously, she wasn't startled. "I know what to do."
"Well, just in case, let's go over everything. Who do you call first if you discover I'm dead?"
"911".
"Good. I'm going to make a habit of leaving the list of [her other daughters'] numbers out at your chair at the table where you usually go first to sit. You know to dial one before the numbers, right?"
"Oh, yes."
"Okay. Well, I'm going to redo the list tonight with the numbers written out exactly as you need to dial them."
"Good."
"And, you must keep trying, number after number, until you get someone. Okay?"
"Of course."
"And, when the police show up, tell them you cannot be left alone. Tell them to copy the list of numbers and keep trying everyone until someone responds and promises to get here promptly. Okay?"
"Yes."
"I'll leave a note on the list stating that you can't be left alone for long."
"That's not necessary. I'll tell them."
"Well, no, you won't. I know you well enough to know that you'll tell everyone that you're fine on your own because you think you are."
"Well, yes, I suppose you're right."
"I'm afraid even [her other daughters] would believe you, because you believe this and sound so convincing."
"I know."
"Okay."
"We'll talk more about this tomorrow."
Suddenly there was a lump in my throat. "Well, Mom, I hope that happens (although I actually was hoping the opposite, but I figured this lie would be forgiven) but I might not make it through tonight." I fought to remain calm and objective so she wouldn't worry. "I mean, you never know."
"Goodness, girl! You're not going to die tonight!"
I started to cry. "Mom, I don't know. I might. I just want to make sure that if it happens you'll be safe very shortly after I die."
She peered at me as though I had just spoken Mandarin. "What makes you think you're going to die tonight?!?" She wasn't expressing belief, just investigating this peculiar and ridiculous suggestion.
By this time I was sobbing. "I'm so, so, tired, Mom. I'm just so tired. I think I might stop breathing tonight and I'll be so tired I won't want to start back up, again, my body won't even do it automatically. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."
"Go back to bed, child! You need to sleep. You didn't set your alarm, did you?"
"Uh, well, no."
"Good. Get some sleep. You're fine. I'll see you in the morning."
"Well, I hope so."
"Oh, stop that! You're over dramatizing! Kiss me goodnight! Don't stay up rewriting that list! You need to sleep!"
That's what happened, although, I drifted into sleep assuming I wouldn't be awakening.
Happily, I suppose, the dwelling in my doldrums worked through the depths of sleep. I feel, now, well, not yet ready to die. Sometimes I become so tired from the vigilance of being my mother's sole keeper in the world, of knowing from unexpected but soberly absorbed experience how draining it is to have to keep a wary eye on those with whom I do medical and financial business on my mother's behalf...sometimes I get so tired of being one of this human species in whom the business of life overwhelms any remembrance of joy and I just don't want to do it anymore; don't want to try to negotiate the scams, don't want to try to negotiate anything, don't even want to be where negotiation is necessary. Doesn't matter that I'm taking care of someone. She never doesn't like life so she'll be fine I think. Leave life to those who accept the desperation and consider it invigorating.
Sometimes I think if you don't really like what you see going on, person after person, day after day, it's best, for you and for those who depend on you, that you not stay around. Sometimes I just get so tired that I can't help but think this.
So far I've been able to sleep my way out of this fatigue. Maybe I will for years to come. But now I'm settled about what will happen to my mother if I don't. This, at least, is a blessing.
Autopsy conclusion: Cessation of Inspiration, Undetermined Origin.
I "thought" about it for a long time after retiring, considering what affect this would have on my mother's circumstances; how her life would be upended and overhauled by the arrangements my death would make necessary. Initially, under the assumption that she'd discover me dead in bed and call 911 and then one or more of my sisters, she'd be alone and floundering in the house for a good 24 hours, maybe more, probably soaked to the gills with urine, her blood sugar out of control, assuming that she figured out or "remembered" how to prepare food; chances are she'd eat condiments, pickles, olives, cheese and left over cheesecake out of the refrigerator. She'd probably "nap" on the sofa, soaking it with her urine. She wouldn't bathe, she wouldn't take her meds, she wouldn't change her clothes, she might attempt to get the mail and fall, crawling her way back to the house if she didn't accidentally lock herself out, she may not hear the phone to answer it, she probably wouldn't even realize she had to feed and water The Little Girl. Once discovered and secured, she'd move in with one (or more, perhaps in shifts) of my sisters. Soon thereafter, as her medical and life management became overwhelming for one or more of them, she'd probably go to a nursing home. Everything I imagined strifed and stung as the possible scenarios flooded me, but, oh, I was so, so tired, so incredibly tired, I decided I didn't care, everything would turn out "fine" because it is my mother I'd be leaving and everything always turns out fine for her in her mind. And, anyway, I'd be dead, unable to do anything, so one way or another, whether death is our annihilation or our introduction into some other of an infinite number of systems, I wouldn't worry and I could rest.
By the time I reached the "rest" phase of my imaginings I decided I'd better arise and make sure phone numbers were handy for her at her usual sitting place when she awakens. As it happened, she, after having drunk a lot of tea that evening before retiring, was arising to go to the bathroom. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I lightly cleaned her, checked her bed (which was still dry), changed out her underwear and settled her back in bed. Then I figured I'd better prepare her, just in case.
"Mom," I said, "I've been thinking about it and we need to review what you need to do if you should ever awaken and I died in bed during the night."
Curiously, she wasn't startled. "I know what to do."
"Well, just in case, let's go over everything. Who do you call first if you discover I'm dead?"
"911".
"Good. I'm going to make a habit of leaving the list of [her other daughters'] numbers out at your chair at the table where you usually go first to sit. You know to dial one before the numbers, right?"
"Oh, yes."
"Okay. Well, I'm going to redo the list tonight with the numbers written out exactly as you need to dial them."
"Good."
"And, you must keep trying, number after number, until you get someone. Okay?"
"Of course."
"And, when the police show up, tell them you cannot be left alone. Tell them to copy the list of numbers and keep trying everyone until someone responds and promises to get here promptly. Okay?"
"Yes."
"I'll leave a note on the list stating that you can't be left alone for long."
"That's not necessary. I'll tell them."
"Well, no, you won't. I know you well enough to know that you'll tell everyone that you're fine on your own because you think you are."
"Well, yes, I suppose you're right."
"I'm afraid even [her other daughters] would believe you, because you believe this and sound so convincing."
"I know."
"Okay."
"We'll talk more about this tomorrow."
Suddenly there was a lump in my throat. "Well, Mom, I hope that happens (although I actually was hoping the opposite, but I figured this lie would be forgiven) but I might not make it through tonight." I fought to remain calm and objective so she wouldn't worry. "I mean, you never know."
"Goodness, girl! You're not going to die tonight!"
I started to cry. "Mom, I don't know. I might. I just want to make sure that if it happens you'll be safe very shortly after I die."
She peered at me as though I had just spoken Mandarin. "What makes you think you're going to die tonight?!?" She wasn't expressing belief, just investigating this peculiar and ridiculous suggestion.
By this time I was sobbing. "I'm so, so, tired, Mom. I'm just so tired. I think I might stop breathing tonight and I'll be so tired I won't want to start back up, again, my body won't even do it automatically. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."
"Go back to bed, child! You need to sleep. You didn't set your alarm, did you?"
"Uh, well, no."
"Good. Get some sleep. You're fine. I'll see you in the morning."
"Well, I hope so."
"Oh, stop that! You're over dramatizing! Kiss me goodnight! Don't stay up rewriting that list! You need to sleep!"
That's what happened, although, I drifted into sleep assuming I wouldn't be awakening.
Happily, I suppose, the dwelling in my doldrums worked through the depths of sleep. I feel, now, well, not yet ready to die. Sometimes I become so tired from the vigilance of being my mother's sole keeper in the world, of knowing from unexpected but soberly absorbed experience how draining it is to have to keep a wary eye on those with whom I do medical and financial business on my mother's behalf...sometimes I get so tired of being one of this human species in whom the business of life overwhelms any remembrance of joy and I just don't want to do it anymore; don't want to try to negotiate the scams, don't want to try to negotiate anything, don't even want to be where negotiation is necessary. Doesn't matter that I'm taking care of someone. She never doesn't like life so she'll be fine I think. Leave life to those who accept the desperation and consider it invigorating.
Sometimes I think if you don't really like what you see going on, person after person, day after day, it's best, for you and for those who depend on you, that you not stay around. Sometimes I just get so tired that I can't help but think this.
So far I've been able to sleep my way out of this fatigue. Maybe I will for years to come. But now I'm settled about what will happen to my mother if I don't. This, at least, is a blessing.
