Is God watching me?

I have difficulty thinking about my mother's situation without thinking about the last years of my father's life. Her Alzheimer's meant that I had to take on the responsibility for his life...mostly against both of their wills. (This was during the angry years of her Alzheimer's progression, so everything was a battle that left me with scars and her unaware of anything.) The following reflects my feelings last winter and spring. Loneliness...a consistent part of my experience. And, a constant internal litany of questions, "Did I do all I should have? Did I step in soon enough? What else should I have done?..."

I feel myself changing with every passing day. I feel myself slipping away, and know I will be forever changed by these events that I have no control over, yet am responsible for…being held accountable for.

I don’t want to be this person anymore. The person who has to take care of this. The person who has to put my father in a nursing home. Who has to clean him. Who has to lift him from a wheelchair to the toilet and back again. I don’t want to be the person who tells him over and over that he is sick, that he is never going home again. Who asks, “Do you understand what I have said? Will you remember what I have told you?” And to look into hollow eyes, eyes that are counting on me to make it alright…again.

I don’t want to be this person anymore. The person who has to take care of this. The person who has to keep telling my mother that she has Alzheimer’s, and that it is getting worse and she will never get better. Who has to take her home, car, and independence away from her. Who has to take her to court to establish guardianship over her. Who has to figure out where her money is and how she will live the rest of her life. Who says, “You have to let me help you now. You can no longer live on your own.” Only to be yelled at and told to go to hell…everyday.

I don’t want to be this person anymore. The person who has to take care of this. I think about staying in bed in order to avoid dealing with it all. About not answering the phone when it rings. About not taking care of them anymore. About running away from home. But, everyone is counting on me. And, it feels like even God is watching me.

Yet, even under the watchful gaze, the loneliness of the experience is inexplicable…complicated…numbing…opaque. Sometimes I don’t even feel I have the strength to reach out and make contact, even when I know it would ultimately help me, save me. I buried my face in my husband’s neck tonight, smelling the shaving cream on his skin, feeling the warmth of his skin, listening to him breathing. I shut my eyes as tight as I could, until all I could see was black rectangle with a lighted aura. An escape route…but only for that brief moment. The phone rang. And, it started again. “Mom, Dad has not disappeared. He is in the nursing home. Yes, you saw him today, I took you to see him this afternoon. I'm sorry you don’t remember, but he is OK. No, please, don't cry...” I don’t want to be this person anymore. The person who has to take care of this. Is God watching me?