In my dreams they are always waving their hands and saying goodbye,
And they give me the stirrup cup and I smile as I drink,
I am glad the journey is set, I am glad I am going,
I am glad, I am glad, that my friends don't know what I think.
from Stevie Smith's poem In My Dreams
There's an article making the rounds on the internets about caregiving. You can read it here. It has provoked discussion, some of it contentious. Initially, the article struck me as comforting. It resonated with my own experience in that while I find being a full-time caregiver to a disabled young adult wearing, it's also an honor. Why wearing? You know why. Why an honor? I think to give of oneself, over and over, to take care of someone who is entirely dependent, is a beautiful thing and calls upon our best selves, my best self. Not all of the time but most of the time. Other people are vehement in their hatred of caregiving, would change everything in the snap of a finger. I don't judge that. In fact, I understand that. They're not my people, though. Others see caregiving as a gift from God and the whole mess as a blessing. They find meaning in chaos. I don't judge that. In fact, I understand that. They're not my people. Where am I going?
After mulling it over and reading the comments and discussion, I felt more conflicted.
Even equanimity is unbearable sometimes.
I was feeling resentful this morning. I was feeling resentful that I must give up, give way, miss out, miss, because of this whole shebang. I feel a divide, a chafing from those that live typical lives. Even my friends. I know it's useless to make them understand. Perhaps it is a boulder on my shoulder. I am glad that they don't know what I think. Or maybe I'm delusional, and it's they who are waving good-bye to me.
Resentment is ugly and weighs far more than accommodation.
That underground bar, though, connected by tunnels, whiskey shots and empathy. I am glad the journey is set.
To Christy, to Jeneva, to Heather and Claire, to Andrea, to Elizabeth and Mary Lou and Meg and Molly, to Susan and Phil and Sharon and Alison and Ray and Cindy and Dave and Ken and Michael and Lisa and Sandra. To Katy and Jennifer and Erika and Carolyn and Erik. Michelle and Meg and Shannon and Jay. Liz and Heather and Brandi and Denise. Carrie. Terri, Jackie and Paula and Shannon, Rebecca and Tricia. Elizabeth and Olivia -- to all those I missed.