Sometimes I get sick of the whole damn thing. It all feels so ludicrous
and pathetic while at the same time heart wrenching, tragic and
miserable. I am sick of the seizures and the medicine. I get sick of
Calvin’s idiosyncrasies; the incessant eye poking and staring at the
sun, the relentless yanking off of his glasses, the wretched screaming,
the constant drooling. I get sick of him throwing everything on the
ground as soon as we give it to him. I get sick of changing diapers. I
get sick of his poor balance, of his inability to truly explore his
world. I get sick of him trying to bite everything: tables, chairs,
magazines, windowsills and windows, the freezer, his shoes, the car, the
sink, the water faucet, the hamper, the radiator, the wastebasket, his
books and toys, the zipper on his coat, the shutters, the dishwasher,
his glasses, his crib. Sick, sick, sick of it all.
And though Michael has helped me begin to understand that I may have some sort of superhuman patience, and the ability to maintain calm vigilance over these things, at times I get so sick of it I just have to scream—not at anyone but at the whole sorry situation. And if Calvin is present he usually starts to giggle, and at that I can do nothing but melt. In an instant all of my feelings of anger, self-pity, annoyance and tension dissolve into doting tenderness and love. For all of his peculiarities and quirks Calvin is a darling. He’s pure through and through, lovely and affectionate. There isn't a cruel or malevolent bone in his body; rather he strives to do his best to please in most any circumstance. I couldn’t ask for a finer son to show me how I can be a better person.
This post was originally published in November 2010. Some things never change.
And though Michael has helped me begin to understand that I may have some sort of superhuman patience, and the ability to maintain calm vigilance over these things, at times I get so sick of it I just have to scream—not at anyone but at the whole sorry situation. And if Calvin is present he usually starts to giggle, and at that I can do nothing but melt. In an instant all of my feelings of anger, self-pity, annoyance and tension dissolve into doting tenderness and love. For all of his peculiarities and quirks Calvin is a darling. He’s pure through and through, lovely and affectionate. There isn't a cruel or malevolent bone in his body; rather he strives to do his best to please in most any circumstance. I couldn’t ask for a finer son to show me how I can be a better person.
This post was originally published in November 2010. Some things never change.
Beautiful post, Christy. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteKay
Hi...Just wanted to share with you, that when I read your post, I had to smile because, I know the sick feelings, the sadness, the heartache, the being mad, the feeling of I don't want to do this, and then the joy on the days when a son looks at you with love, knowing you will ALWAYS be there for him even on the rough days!...I've been there, done this for 41 years. My son, Jason is 43 now, and for 41 of those years he has had uncontrolled daily seizures and all that goes with that. He lives at home with his Dad & I who are his main caregivers aka "shadows"...I smiled, because I know if I can do this for 40 some odd years, so can you. You just do it because...:-):-):-)....Never easy, but do-able...Epilepsy awareness and all that goes with that has come a long way since we started this journey 41 years ago and I'm doing my part to help spread that awareness and also raise $$$ for research. You will find Jason's story on crowdrise.com called CURE EPILEPSY benefiting CURE...Just something I can do from home. I wish you nothing but the best on your journey. You sound like a wonderful Mom and Caregiver and so entitled to every feeling that comes your way...:-):-)
ReplyDeleteLinda Andersen
dear linda,
ReplyDeletemeaningful words especially coming from a mother like you. i will check out your site. thank you for reaching out. please share calvin's story with the world.
xo