It’s been a helluva week.
A man I cared about a lot died from ALS on Sunday morning. I wrote about it as best I could over on the family blog, but even as I share this story I know that I’m edging around parts of the experience. I’m not afraid of telling my part of the story, because I had a lot to do with his care for the last couple months and our whole family life in the last year has orbited around the dual suns of COVID and Rich’s declining health, but the look in his eyes the last time he was fully coherent and speaking with me still haunts me.
I was also in my first car wreck, or at least the first for which I was driving, on Monday. Everyone is fine, but we’re still waiting to hear back on how much damage the truck sustained. Fortunately we have good insurance and, while we all acknowledge that the crash was my fault because I didn’t see the vehicle approaching in my blindspot as I changed lanes, nobody is piling on blame for it.
I can feel myself circling around questions of family pain and caring for elders. I desperately want my parents to figure out where they are moving (if they are moving) so I can know how much help I can offer as their health fails.
But it is time to breathe.
I’m going to be writing a lot more in the coming months. I intend to post daily. Sometimes my most important experiences and feelings might be too private to put out here for public consumption, but on those occasions I will still try to force myself to post something.
Life is too short.
I’ve had one friend commit suicide in the last year and a found family member die of a terminal illness. I’ve taken steps to finally be independent and work for myself.
It’s time to live, grow, and be myself.