It’s the jolly month of May. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Everything is greening. Yet instead of jolly, I feel the beginning of a moody blue, a sense of foreboding, a dull ache behind my eyes. I like to close my eyes and dive into bed and hide beneath the covers. But I do not. My head is filled with swirling debris of useless thoughts going nowhere.
Unable to clear and dust my inner space, I started to do so to my outer world. I gathered up my ski pants, mitts, gloves, scarves, hats and headband. They’re washed and hanging up to dry and another load of various items are swirling in the washer. The kitchen floor is swept. The makings of a stirfry are prepped, waiting for me to throw them into the frying pan. I’m sipping a cuppa decaf. I crave a cuppa of anything when thus. I’m trying to stay on the narrow low caffeine path. I might stray today.
I did not stray too badly yesterday, having only an extra cup of decaf. I can rationalize that I’ve earned it, having taken my 90 plus mother for another medical appointment. It seems we’ve travelled a long and rocky medical path. Now we are on the last stage. I should be grateful that it is a much smoother and pleasant experience. I am and yet I can’t help but wondered why it wasn’t so before. I thought I had reconciled that I/we did the best I could. And whatever happened, I/we did alright. My mother will be turning 92 this July. She and my father are still living in their house on their own with minimal help from us.
I should have stayed with those thoughts but I’m not always in control. Bad thoughts and questions filtered through. Could I have done better as an advocate for my mother? Why didn’t I insist on this and that? Why didn’t I do this or that? If I had, maybe their health would be better today. So those thoughts go round and round inside. They immobilized my being. I’ve felt responsible for my parents’ lives most of my life. That’s what happened when I’m an immigrant child of immigrant parents. They do not understand or speak English well. I’m been their appointment taker and translator. It’s hard to be objective and not feel guilt.
So this is where I’m at in this jolly month of May. It’s 6:30 in my morning. I’ve been up since 5:15, unable to sleep more despite a little sleep aid last night. I’ve had my cuppa Orange Pekoe. I do want another but I’ll try a dandelion tea instead. I’m making a concerted effort not to let my strong emotions control me. I can. I can. The sun is beaming in agreement. I’ve tapped out my stored stagnant energy. I can breathe and move again to live another day.