Take Care

“What have you done with my wife?” Kent’s looking at me in amazement, completely perplexed by my behavior. First, I’ve asked to eat out at a restaurant completely unlike our usual Friday night date spot and now I’m inviting him to eat ice cream. I’m a fitness nut, no apologies. I rarely deviate from the path. Tonight, I’m way out of my lane. I’ve made a decision to take care of myself.

Truthfully, I’m beyond exhaustion. I have gone without uninterrupted sleep for almost two weeks, getting up three to four times each night to take care of our family dog. He’s been declining rapidly, slipping away from us, requiring help every couple of hours or so. I hear him struggling and I get up to help him out the door, walking around with him for a while until he can go back inside. I’m feeling the accumulating effects of sleep deprivation.

This feeling of exhaustion, living in limbo, caring for a friend, has a deep sense of the familiar. Not so many years ago I was in the same spot for a different reason, caring for my mom as she succumbed to pancreatic cancer. Our dog, Jack, has lymphoma. Cancer’s the worst, our veterinarian says. I agree with her.

Caregiving takes everything in you. Whether you’re in a long-term situation like I was with my mom or in this shorter time with Jack. You reach a place where you’re simply surviving, a place where you manage the necessary. You cook the meals, do the laundry, and meet the needs of everyone else—all while handling the urgent, ready at any moment to shift gears, go from one to the other.

It’s easy to procrastinate your own needs. If you’re not careful, not attentive to take care of yourself, you can burn out. You’ll find yourself standing in the kitchen in a daze not sure why you’re there. You’ll realize someone’s speaking to you and you have no idea what they’re talking about or how you’re supposed to respond. You feel your energy level slowly tanking.

But, the season of caregiving with my mom taught me a few things. I learned that it’s not selfish to take care of myself. I learned that I must care for myself before I can care for others.

I learned to give myself permission to take a break. To go outside. Take a walk in the yard. Go for a run. Sit on the porch. And, I learned to ask for help.

I’m a fixer. It’s difficult for me to accept help from others. But, caregiving is done best when shared. Not only does sharing responsibility take some of the weight off, but it also gives you someone to talk about things with, someone who gets it, knows where you are and where things stand. And, it gives others an appreciation of the task you’re in the midst of during this season of life.

I’ve also learned to say no. When everything in me says, “I can do that. I should do that,” the fact that I have the skills to do something doesn’t mean I should do it during this season of my life. Someone else might not do it like I want it done, but I need to let it go. I also need to accept the fact that it might not get done at all. That’s okay. Life will go on. Knowing when to push through and when to stop is not always easy. But, sometimes something is just too much. Life will go on.

When you’re caregiving—and caregiving not only includes sick loved ones, it can also include a host of other things including parenting small children—you need to treat yourself sometimes. That may be as simple as taking time to shower or take a hot bath, but you need to do something to recharge.

I don’t know how long this season will last. Caring for our family dog, watching him slip away from us, is terrible. Caring for my mom was so much worse. But, the same skills are helping me through another season of caregiving.

Tonight, I ate grilled fajitas and chocolate ice cream. And, I will go back to my duties better for my break from the routine. Taking care of myself was not an indulgence. I needed it. Later, when the night watch begins again, I’ll be in a better place mentally, physically, and emotionally. I’ll wake up to do my day job better too.

I don’t know how long this season will last, but I do know it will be worth it. And, Jack’s been a special member of our family. I’m glad I can ease his passage.

I’m thankful for the support system of family and friends who ask me how we’re doing and pray for us in whatever’s going on when life gets overwhelming. They often offer help, showing up with little surprises now and then.

I’ve been reading a middle grade novel by Katherine Applegate. It’s called The One and Only Ruby. Ruby is a small elephant. Her Aunt Akello is teaching her the Four Lodestars of All Elephants, “Kindness, wonder, courage, and gratitude.” It occurs to me that these are applicable for humans too. No matter what life throws at us.

“A lodestar…is a guiding star on a dark evening, a beacon to help us navigate the terrain of our lives.”
The One and Only Ruby
by Katherine Applegate

Update: I began this post a few weeks ago. Since then, I’ve celebrated my birthday with family, dinner, and cake. The next morning, we had to say goodbye to Jack. Seems life is always like that, sweet and bitter mixed in together.

In the midst of all of this, three special Christmas packages were misdelivered because they were shipped with no street number in the address. After a week-and-a-half search, thanks to helpful friends, neighbors, and postal workers (both current and retired), we managed to track them down.

When I got back in the car after picking up the Christmas packages, the song “It’s a Good Day,” by Forrest Frank, was playing on my car radio. Once again, in the midst of life’s chaos, I’m reminded that God cares about even the smallest things in our lives.

Yes, It’s a good day and God is good. All the time.

Blessings!

IG @ forest frank