shit on caregiving.

Another explosive day…

Steve has this way of going over the same thing over and over – You should have just done this – (it used to be focused on my kids which would bring this same reaction from me)Well I couldn’t hear it picked apart and gone over again and I cut him off and said I wasn’t going to listen to it again. He turns it around and says how he just needs to talk it out – but it’s not talking anything out. It hurts me so much to go back to the week of his stroke. I can’t change things. I thought the house was in the final throes of being foreclosed on and I took what I could, and walked away. It was raining so terribly the day we tried to pack that truck and the kids were working through mud and goop in the cold and cat shit was everywhere. I told the people who came to help that they could have things – a crock pot, a pressure washer, the computer, an electric guitar. I never expected to go back, EVER and I turned and walked away. My friends know how I agonized over leaving the cats. The hospital was not caring for Steve correctly and I could barely stand to leave him. I had had no sleep and was in intense pain myself – to the point I had my chest pains checked out in emergency. Steve’s brother had frightened me to death telling me to get back to Atlanta because decisions had to be made and as next of kin, I had to make them. Doctors really didn’t talk to me clearly and I was told his prognosis wasn’t good and I was a mess. Steve keeps saying how I can’t understand unless the stroke happens to me – but he also can’t understand what me and G went through. It was/is the most horrible time of all our lives. He feels betrayed and victimized to have had his things stolen and picked over and given away. I understand – Kayla did it to me and my stuff wasn’t thrift store finds and speakers. He’s right, His brother doesn’t value his stuff and I didn’t value his stuff. I felt it was a hoarder’s junk and ran from it. Really, I’m not trying to downplay anything. I did a terrible job of managing that first week. I was told he’d be tube fed and he was on a catheter and couldn’t move or talk or answer me or open his eyes most of the time. I want to be here for him to work through his loss, but I can’t do it from a healed place yet. It’s an open wound for me still. I see pictures of him whole and before the stroke and sometimes I just cry. I miss him so much. Today, I wouldn’t let him talk about this again. I need him to know the other side and stop going back there to the house and the things that are so very neglected. He almost died there. Our kitties suffered there. I can’t hear how we shouldn’t have had so many or how I shouldn’t have told him to work for Sam. He thought we had thousands of dollars when we were down to 1 thousand dollars and he wouldn’t hear me that the money was gone. He was suffering and he was sick and hungry and we were so alone. I try to tell him things and he won’t hear me because he’s busy looking back and laying guilt – and although he says he’s not laying it on me, he’s angry and hurt and does it over and over and this time, I couldn’t be silent and take it. And he cried and was hurt again – because even though BETTER is becoming a word we can use, he’s not always better and I am incredibly tired. Today I am so hot and he is so hot and we just fought and I hurt him AGAIN. I had to leave and I went grocery shopping, and he’s in bed, not talking to me. And my God I wish he seemed older than 10 in his interactions because I could really use a good fuck. He says he doesn’t feel like a man. Maybe I am causing that, but He doesn’t seem like a grown up dealing with a bad situation. He seems like a little boy and I feel like a hover mom trying to anticipate his next need. I wish we knew how close to healing he is and if this is our norm, then we can deal with that. I feel like he’s getting better – he sounds more like his own self. But there are some things we just need to not do to each other. Today’s round of words was one of them.

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About Green Jean Granny

I believe in and practice positive living with a bit of a barb it seems. I love YARN, music, reading, history, and gemstones. I am passionate about the Earth. I am a true homebody. I've said I was Pagan for years to separate myself from a churchy upbringing and judgmental family that left me outside of its beliefs. I believe it's our responsibility to tend and protect the Earth. I basically do my thing in a (not so) quiet, amused way. I believe in the power of my own hands, the energy of combined prayer, and caring for the earth. I attend a nondenominational Christian Church. I have 6 kids, all home-born and successfully breastfed. The oldest 5 are grown. The youngest is attending Community College and living at home. I'm the oldest of 9, daughter of a missionary mother who lives in The Republic of Congo, married to the son of a preacher, with 3 spoiled dogs and and an add on (my daughter's pit bull lives here for a bit while she hikes the Appalachian Trail. Right now, there is small balance after yrs of unemployment. My disability was approved due to degenerative disc disease and fibromyalgia. I believe we owe it to ourselves to protect our mental health. It's precious and the one thing we can control. I dislike my own housework and I talk too much. I bought a house in North Carolina and after trying to get my husband here for 6 months, he had a stroke. I'm a two-time caregiver. Steve's got hemiparesis and diabetes and is learning to walk and trying to use his right side again. It's slow going. Our 10 kitties were rehomed by rescue after his stroke.
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