When I started writing about bringing my father into my home, I didn’t realize how stagnant some of the days would be. Most days are filled with (him) watching television right now. I keep asking him everyday to go on walks with me, but he won’t. He says his hip hurts, so I am going to make sure that gets brought up to his doctor. I’m trying to decide if it’s an excuse.
He did go with us to the zoo two weekends ago. Albeit a small zoo, but he walked the zoo. Then this past weekend, my beautiful daughter graduated from high school. He got a haircut and a beard trim the day before. He took a shower the day of! Yes for small triumphs!
Now on to my life…
What can I say? I’ve worried over the past 8 months that I wouldn’t be available enough for my teens. There have been times I’ve felt bad. Literally, I’ve felt bad because I’m pretty sure when my father was in his catatonic depression that I was going down that path as well. I’m good now. At least I think. I’m learning that my teens don’t need me as much as I’d like them to. I’m also learning that allowing my apron strings to fall to the floor is a healthy process that we must go and charge forth with.
The day of graduation I was my usual unorganized self running around and finding that I only had 30 minutes to get ready all of a sudden. Happens every damn time I have something important to do. I spent most of my afternoon trying to get my son to sign his sister’s card, which he did in his dark humor of ‘Rest in peace, you were a cool sister.’ Ugh.
It was time for Rowan to drive off ahead of us to the school; and as she was flying out the door and I was trying to get a hug that I never got, she handed me several cards. She asked me to give them to the people they were addressed to.
The door slammed and I looked down to see these tiny little thank you cards. One for her best friend’s mother, her boyfriend’s parents, my father, my mother, my step-father, her brother, my husband and myself.
I haven’t spontaneously cried at the first sentence of written words in years. The affirmation that I’m doing it right, I’m doing it right for her. It may not be perfect and it may not be the best mothering a mother can do, but I’ll be damn… she thinks so and that’s all that matters.