This is my annual trip - 7 women, 1 cottage, 1 lake. We've been doing this for about 22 years and it's nothing short of amazing. In the past, I've been whiny about the fact that there's no air conditioning. This year, I'd almost sleep in a tent. I need this weekend SO BADLY. I need girl talk and book reading and NO PILL-SORTING. I'm going despite living with the guilt of saddling my Hubby with my parents for 2-1/2 days. I really do feel bad about this, but I'm afraid if I don't go, I might kill my Dad.
Yeah, it's getting bad.
Here's the bad news: Caring for your parents might make you feel differently about them...not in a good way. Allow me to explain.
I always worshiped my Dad. Despite his flaws, I looked up to him. I loved his sense of humor and his work ethic. I liked the way his mind worked. I was always so proud of the life that he built without a college education. And then when life beat him down and he lost his business, I loved how he pulled himself up by his bootstraps and never whined. His beautiful home was taken away and he and Mom had to move multiple times and he had to drive halfway across Chicago to work for someone else.
Now, after living with him for 3 months. I don't like him. I've forgotten what I ever liked about him. I'm just being honest. I now see what my Mom has put up with for 60 years. Her vigilant care of him masked his selfishness and his lack of any interest in anyone other than himself. Maybe he's not really like this and maybe age and poor health has simply stripped him down to only the negatives. I'm not sure, but I feel really sad about the fact that I don't like this person that is living in my house. How awful am I?
Here's the rub: I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Yesterday, I got on Dad's case about getting up and moving. I told him, in no uncertain terms that he needed to get up more and move around the house. It's starting to piss him off and, well, you already know how I feel about that. Well, he snapped at me again. And then I snapped back:
Dad: I moved, OK? You told me to move and I did. Where do you want me to go?
Me: Never mind. I give up. Do what you want.
*Cut to me walking away and Dad shuffling away in disgust.*
After that, he sort of stopped talking to me. And I was OK with that...but not really. (I'm a people-pleaser. Even people that I don't like. It's a horrible quality. I don't recommend it.) Suddenly, this silent pall fell over the house and it was icky and sad. I want to fix it all and I can't. I'm digging so freaking deep to find compassion and patience and kindness and the well has simply run dry. This is why I need to go away...before the damage is so bad that my relationship with my Dad is beyond repair.
But let's be glass-half-full about this: I now adore my Mom. She's now my new hero. Life has consistently dished out lemons to her and yet, to this day, she continues to be optimistic, sweet and pleasant. My new fear is that I won't be like her when I'm old. Her simple kindness is nothing short of endearing.
While I spend my days fuming about Dad's general lack of interest in life, I also look for ways to tell my Mom that she's awesome...because I don't think that anybody has ever told her that. Despite all the sh*t that she dealt with during her 81 years on earth, she finds the grace to be amazing. I hope someday to be the same.
In the meantime, I'm off to the woods - drink in hand, book on lap, friends nearby. Sanctuary.
Have a great, guilt-free weekend. I know it's easier said than done on that second part, but give it your best. You deserve the time.
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