I just want to die
One of the last things my mom said to me before I left was,
I feel terrible. I just want to die!
I had been living with my mom in her one bedroom assisted living apartment for 96 days out of the last 4 months.
I sleep on the floor at the foot of her bed each night.
I try to go to sleep early because I know I’m going to wake up at 3 am the next morning - anticipating my mom’s yells. Yes, she screams in her sleep. Sometimes, loud, jarring, sit straight up in your bed types of screams. Sometimes, just quiet muffles. The byproduct of nightmares that wake me up but never wake her up. It sounds like she’s terrified. Of what, I have no idea. It’s like she’s trying to escape something terrible.
Although she never remembers these screaming episodes, I do. It’s been a long time since I got a good night’s sleep.
I can’t sleep in the living room because my mom watches Korean dramas until late in the night. And, I need quiet, dark solitude to go to sleep.
Anyway, on this morning, a couple days ago, it was 4 am and I had a lot left to do. I only had 30 minutes before I had to leave for the airport.
I need to put my make up in my suitcase. And put my curling iron, toothpaste, and hair brush in the box I still need to put in storage.
Oh, and I’m hungry. Let me make a quick banana, papaya, and oatmeal breakfast. Oooh, I’m going to miss eating those papayas every morning.
Ah, I need to pack this leftover mushroom pizza, sushi, and honeycrisp apple in my carry on bag. And throw away this half-eaten eggplant bolognese. Bummer.
As, I was half eating and half packing my mom wakes up.
I feel terrible. I just want to die!
What?! I’m leaving in 20 minutes to fly 3,000 miles away and you’re telling me you want to die. Really?! Right now? Why do you always fall apart when I’m about to go?
I stop shoveling in my oatmeal. Hmmm. What should I do? What are my choices?
Did you take your meds?
No. I forgot.
Ok, take those. I need to keep packing.
You see. My mom is an addict. Her lupus causes so much nerve pain in her legs and feet that she’s hooked on morphine and other opioids. And, from my deductions, when an addict missed their fix, they want to die.
This happens once a week or so. It’s nothing new. She’ll get through this. I can go home. I want to go home. I miss my family. I miss my sleep. I miss my sanity.
Everything’s going to be ok.
I take a picture of the clothes and shoes I’m leaving at my mother’s house, so I’ll know what to bring and what not to bring on my next trip. I hope I get to stay home longer than 8 days this time.
I pack them in the storage box then carry the filled boxes down the hall. I place my stuff on top of the box of old photos from the ‘70s and lock them up.
I walk past my mom, looking so frail and pitiful in her nightgown.
How did she get so small? She used to be taller than me. Now she’s definitely a few inches shorter than I am. I wonder how small I’m going to be?
Bags packed, I give my mom one last hug.
Thanks for helping me so much, she says.
You’re welcome. Go stand outside on your lanai and get some fresh air until you feel better.
Good idea.
See you next time.
This is how it goes with caregiving. It’s a wild roller coaster ride. Things can change in the blink of an eye. You never know what’s going to happen around the corner.
And, you have the choice at any time to get off the ride. Live your own life. Go home.
There’s no shame in that.
I’m telling you to do what’s best for you. Because it’s your life. Enjoy all of it.
Right now, I’m savoring my view of the house finches pecking on the sunflowers in my backyard.
What a wonderful life this is.
If you need help dealing with a difficult family member, I’ve got you. You have choices. And, I’ll guide you to the possibilities that are best for you.
Be open to the possibilities.
xoxo Lani
