I’m finally back at the keyboard. I took a few days to go on a (business) trip with someone who dislikes traveling alone. I did take my work with me, but I spent a LOT of time relaxing and reading, which was important.
Traveling is exhausting. And we deplaned just in time to see on BIG screens all over a quiet airport—the news that the jet and helicopter had collided over the Potomac. Very sobering. The 3 hour drive home was full of silent prayer.
So I am, yes, still tired. I think more of it is from the past year’s strain (and the years before it, building up and accelerating.)
What I mean is, when you’ve been pushing that boulder up a hill and you finally get to the top, there’s nothing left to do, and not only is there all the exhaustion from the climb, but a lot more time with nothing to fill it—which is tiring in a different way.
Of course, I have things to do. Many things which had been left by the wayside, put off until later. Especially the job I truly love and all the related things which fulfill me. And reading. Always reading. Cooking—I haven’t done a lot of that since Covid (when my husband learned to grocery shop—because I cannot wear a mask—and cook suppers.)
I have a lot of things I want to do—but I’m still jumping, waiting for the phone call, waiting for the next emergency. I’m convinced that I’ve forgotten something EVERY DAY and obsessively check my calendar—but I don’t have all those appointments to take my Dad to (Mom needs far less.) I don’t have all the phone calls to make, to try and get help.
I don’t have…anything more to do for my father. I guess I’ll get a kleenex and go lie down for a while. I know it will get better. I’ve been here before—not in the same way, a parent is different. But for now, yeah, a nap sounds lovely.
Photo by Abdel Rahman Abu Baker: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-sitting-on-rock-in-front-of-water-fountain-1885818/
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