Time, where have you gone?

Wow. Has it really been this long since I've posted? This year has gotten away from. Like many others, I am having the most difficult time focusing on things these days. The pandemic is partly to blame. Grief also bares some responsibility. But, mostly it's me. 

The good news is that I have not completely set aside my writing goals. There have been days that I've written and not posted. There have been days that I haven't written. There have been days that I've written multiple pieces. All in all, it balances out, I think.

My mom passed away in January of 2020, just before the pandemic hit the US. She had been ill for quite a while prior to that, having been admitted into the hospital in April of 2019 and never being released. She would ultimately pass at the hospital. During the years leading up to that extended hospital and rehab stay, she had been dealing with multiple medical issues that were progressively and aggressively accelerating. Diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure. The trifecta. Over the course of that time, it was becoming more and more difficult for her to maintain her health on her own. She'd either forget to or choose not to take her medications. She began having trouble grasping seemingly simple concepts, like operating a thermostat. Her mind was beginning to collapse just as her body had been.

I began to take a more and more active role in her healthcare while still trying to honor her independence. Then came the big hospital stay. For nine months, she bounced between ICUs, critical care units, standard care floors, ventilator units, rehab facilities, and emergency rooms. Most days unaware of her surroundings. Most days unaware of what had happened to her. Unaware that her heart had stopped for 7 minutes while in the first emergency room. Unaware that she had delirium and that our old family friends were not hiding in a trash can. Unaware that I had been there every day, often before and after work. Unaware that during the 3rd week of ICU after those first 7 dreadful minutes, that we were advised to make hospice plans and funeral arrangements. But we were aware. We were aware of all of it. We felt every second of it, every roller coaster twist and turn of recovery and relapse, every emotion of fear, love, anger, hate, amusement, sadness, hope, disappointment,and finally relief and grief.

It was exhausting. It was the kind of exhaustion you don't even realize until it's over. Deep, never ending, physical and emotional exhaustion that drains everything from you. It's only when you're looking back at it from the other side that you can fully appreciate the depths to which you fell, the stress it embedded in your entire life and the toll it took on your soul. 

This was all in the "Before Times". Before the pandemic and the lock down. For that I am grateful because we got to be with my mother during her illness, right up until the last moment of her life. We got to hold her hand, kiss her forehead and say good-bye. 

Then the pandemic. Then the lock down. The financial insecurity. Then the working from home. Then racial injustice. Then half a million people died. Then the lack of in-person human interaction. Then the country hated each other. Then murder hornets and wild fires and riots and more racism and more lock down and science being politicized and families hating each other and ... and ... everything. 

I came across this quote (and I'm pretty sure I'm paraphrasing)...
    No wonder you can't focus, you're too busy trying to survive.