Punked

As I drove over to my mother’s yesterday, I was preparing for the backlash. Her unhappiness with the caregiver situation has been palpable. Both my sister and myself have had the unfortunate experience of listening to the many reasons why the caregiver won’t work, and a list of other complaints that would take an entire blog to share.

My preparation for doing this, is as if I am going into battle. First, I spend an hour with like-minded individuals who help me continue to build on my spiritual foundation. Then I invite God to go with me. Thursday, I wasn’t prepared, so I went in with guns blazing. Yesterday, I wanted to do it differently.

When I entered her house, I was greeted with a different version of my mother, who informed me how much she is going to enjoy the new caregiver. Color me confused. She also shared her surprise that the new caregiver could bend over and pick up items from the floor. Don’t ask. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Anyway, to say I was a little frightened, would be an understatement. I was waiting for a camera to pop up and tell me that I am being punked. It felt unnatural. What. Is. Happening?

Sometimes I feel like I have permanent whiplash. Never knowing what I will be experiencing. I can’t say that it is ever dull. And, I am learning that what she says in fear will eventually evaporate once she gets comfortable. It is her process. I just can’t believe I do all this unmedicated.

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