Transitional Crisis...
In track and field events the coaches always told us to run through the finish line. In combat sports they tell us to hit through the target. There are lots of great examples like that for giving your all to a project and not slowing down as the moment of completion approaches.
At the end of the race, beyond the finish line, you can see the runners turning into flailing terrestrial octopi as they slow their bodies with minimal jarring. When a boxer misses a punch, you can see their whole body jerking forward to keep the shock from yoinking everything from the hip to the fist out of joint.
End of life care is very much like this. Being present as much as possible and providing direct care by breaking up sleeping periods and drinking lots of caffeine right through until the moment when the person's condition reaches ultimate stability and then realizing that my inertia has me tumbling forward with no target for my focus.
Just about this time last year I went and talked with our Funeral Director. Kathleen is an amazing lady who I met when she was tending my brother's final needs. I had called her up because my father had led me to believe that everything was planned. I just wanted to check in with her and make sure we were all organized. Nope. Nothing was organized. So she and I sat down and organized everything. Everything. We got the details set out, chose colors and plans, confirmed their plots, drew up obituaries, and got everything set. When I came home and told my father about this he was a little stunned, but that's okay. I told him I'd thought he'd done it. He admitted that he'd thought he'd done it, but it was finally well and done.
This meant that after Kathleen came and picked P up I only got two calls and two emails from her. The first call was, “How's Wednesday, 10AM?” and the second was “Could we do Wednesday, 9:30?” And the emails were one request for a photo and charitable link and one email to give me the link to the online obit.
Now, a lot of people I've known have chosen some charity that meant a lot to the passed person. That's cool. As a queer person who never had a wedding shower or baby shower or anything like that I've never done a family gathering thing where giving me stuff was the whole point of the day. As a person who was doing home care for end of life for my parents, I have had some pretty serious expenses. For my father's charity, we did a go fund me to raise money for caring for my mother. For my mother's charity we've reestablished the same go fund me so people can send us money.
The family members who have reached out to us to see if we need help have been set to doing jobs like cleaning our gutters, and those who want to send food have been given the name of our favorite pizza place to send us gift cards. I went out after Kathleen picked up P and bought out half of a Panera and we've been living on carbohydrates and tea. I really don't think I could eat anything heavier like that because I feel like I'm doing a combination of the finish line octopus dance and the spinning fall of a missed punch.
The emotional loss of my mother happened some time ago since she had always been focused on keeping my sibling alive and then the Alzheimer's removed any memory of my existence long before her memory of my sibling and I've pretty much been working with her as though I am a stranger to her and she is my care responsibility. I'm not experiencing an “I lost my mommy” moment so much as I feel like someone has evicted me from a garden that I've been tending.
That it was a garden designed by M C Escher and H R Geiger with inspiration drawn from Lewis Caroll and H P Lovecraft that frequently hurt and harmed me and smelled bad and was generally unpleasant to be around did not make it any less MY GARDEN and the focus of my purpose for an extended period of time.
Following through on my frequent promise to myself I have slept a lot since Sunday. Probably too much sleep. The luxury of being able to kick back in my chair or even lay in my BED and put my dog on my chest and become unconscious whenever I want is ecstasy. I can watch tv with the volume above 2. I can put on loud grunge music and wander around the house with no pants on. I've even been able to set up my XBox and play video games in the living room. Yes, there has been naked Skellington butt in the living room while the Battle Theme from Halo clashes with Head Like A Hole... it's glorious. If you're into that kind of thing.
And yet.
And yet.
My mind is not doing well adjusting. I'm having that kind of mental break that feels like someone has slipped me a drug and I'm trying to figure out which one it was while still trying to pass as sober at a party and also making sure that someone is going to get me home safe. My perceptions are wrong and my judgment feels heavily impaired and I feel like I've messed up my meds and my dosages are all wrong. Or, that I'm more drunk than I should be for a specific social function and I need to act carefully so as not to hurt anybody's feelings or do something grossly out of character.
So, I'm not making any major life decisions. I'm taking my meds on time and being sure of my doses. I'm forcing myself to eat proteins and vitamins along with the mounds of carbohydrates. I'm moving around enough to get exercise and stretching my body out. I'm following my hygiene checklist that I use for my bad stretches to make sure that the basics get done.
This is a thing that happens. This is a transitional crisis and it is normal. Because my mind is different than other people's minds, it manifests in a way that might be different than it does in them. I don't know. I've never been them. I'm pretty sure that the carbs thing is common. Maybe other people have wigged out perceptions and judgement and don't admit it. Maybe they don't notice it because their emotions have center stage and they act out by crying or hugging or something. Maybe my disorders amplify the issue and maybe my training in dealing with my disorders helps me surf this chaos with a sense of curiosity and wonder because it's just another mental break and it's a temporary thing and some people pay a lot of money to take drugs and go on meditation retreats or thrill adventures to feel like this and expand their minds.
As confusing and as uncomfortable as it is right now, it's a temporary experience and my meta judgement is keeping me from making big decisions or saying most of the really mean and hurtful things that come to my mind. I even waited until whatever day this is (Tuesday, I think) to essay about it. First I get accustomed to the internal disruption, and then I start to learn how to navigate it. Eventually it will begin to feel normal and then it will fade away.
It may be a few months before I stop coming to suddenly thinking, “I have to...” with the fear that I've forgotten a responsibility but that's not an entirely bad thing while there are bills to pay and thank you notes to write. It always comes back to taking care of myself and being patient with myself so that I have the capacity to engage with others and chose to be kind and compassionate.
I am an entire bag of wigged out crazed weasels right now. But I am an entire bag of wigged out crazed weasels who are in the loving care of myself who understands them, accepts them, and knows that this is not forever and this is not the end of the world. Set a bag of weasels to care for a bag of weasels and at the very worst you shall end up with two bags of weasels.
For now I am content in this transitional crisis with my bags of weasels dancing wildly in my head and eliminating the chickens of despair and exhaustion. It's a lousy metaphor, but an accurate description and I really don't feel like hoping for anything more than that at this point.