eclipses

this morning i had a little, pitiful cry in the shower. i was lamenting the fact that, in 2017 and/or 2019, i did not travel cross-country from maine to central washington state to attend my swim team's induction into our university's athletic hall of fame, particularly as its 1986 team captain the year that we won the national championship.

to be fair, any travel is difficult because of leaving michael alone to take care of calvin, which is no easy job even for two people. i struggled with the decision to attend the festivities and, in the end, decided to forego.

 

my sadness this morning was triggered by seeing photos of my female teammates at a recent, casual, mini reunion. i had not been included. maybe it was a last-minute get-together for the locals. perhaps they figured i couldn't/wouldn't attend because of calvin and distance. maybe, since i didn't join the team until my junior year and always felt like a bit of an intruder (i fault myself, not them), i may be an afterthought. but i don't think that is the case; a handful of these women, including two who were also my childhood friends, have shown me great attention and affection over the years. in any event, had i been included, i don't know if i would have pulled the trigger and gone.

 

as my tears mingled with shower water, i realized i was grieving something bigger than missing reunions. i was grieving my inability to experience so many of life's offerings, or to feel an integral part of anything much since calvin's birth, with the exception of taking care of him. he has acted as a kind of eclipse of pretty much everything else.

 

calvin's conditions have overshadowed his and our lives, left us excluded, marginalized, isolated in myriad ways. his severe disabilities have blocked him from forging any friendships. he is incapable of participating in clubs, sports, bands, choir, or theater. as a result, i have not been the "soccer mom" on the sidelines. i have not hosted sleep overs. i have not been in the audience making bonds with his peers' parents over the fifteen years he has attended public school. don't get me wrong, i am friends and am friendly with many parents in our town but, with a few exceptions, mostly just in passing at the grocery store.

 

i also grieve how difficult, even impossible, it has been to engage in various activities with calvin. this morning, the bus driver asked me how my weekend was. well, it was the same mundane weekend as usual—spent driving around the back roads to our favorite vistas, and going to the grocery store with calvin (thankfully, i have grown to appreciate the mundane in many ways.)

 

most regrettably, calvin isn't interested in or cannot tolerate any number of pretty basic activities. he isn't interested in or capable of watching videos or movies, can't sit still for a restaurant meal, can't/won't go for even short walks in the woods or on the beach, immerse himself in a book, play with toys, sit still at a friend's house, or lounge in a park. he is difficult to travel with because of various limitations, including finding him a safe way/place to sleep.

 

over the last three years, calvin has thankfully had a gradual reduction in seizures (from over 100 per year to the low double-digits), which has helped me feel less paralyzed and more at ease about traveling (solo), as long as calvin is in school and when michael is not teaching. i have used this newfound "freedom" to go on a few short trips, to explore running, and to enter races a handful of times each year. i am grateful to have felt embraced by the running community and its members who are warm, kind, fun, funny, inspirational, supportive, and who share my love of the sport. 

 

but every once in a while i get caught feeling a gloom cast over me thinking about lost opportunities—the event i didn't attend, the vacation i forwent. i pine for the day when i can feel more of a sense of freedom besides just on my daily runs, infrequent races and less-frequent trips.

 

but the future is uncertain for calvin after his last day of high school next february. it is unclear whether he will be able to attend an adult day program without adequate funding for a one-on-one aide which he requires. it appears i may be taking care of calvin more instead of less as i age. i grieve the fact that michael and i may never enjoy the freedoms of being empty nesters (not that there aren't downsides of that for many parents), may never again be able to travel as a couple (the only time we have taken a trip without calvin was in 2012 when we spent 24 hours in manhattan), and we will never reap the benefits of being grandparents.

 

as i write this, with dry eyes, i understand that hindsight is 20/20, and i made what i thought were the best decisions that i was capable of making, under certain self-imposed duress, when i opted out of so many fun events. for now, all i can do is forgive myself and remember the circumstances. i will continue to try to reclaim my time, to participate when i can, to leave my comfort zone when possible, and to know that my little ball and chain will be okay without me for awhile when i feel the need to flee to brighter climes.

 

more so, i will continue to appreciate my husband for being such an amazing provider and support (especially in the kitchen and around the house!) and my close friends and family who are so attentive and loving, and who know i am doing my damnedest at the world's most important and impossible job of taking care of a beloved who can't take care of themselves.

 

moreover, at this time of political chaos, strife and uncertainty for too many people, i will be grateful for my husband's uber-stable job, for our cozy home, for having enough money for food and heat, for health insurance, our community, our friendships, and this beautiful, safe place called maine.

 

photo of me and calvin (trapped behind me for a spell) at last year's total solar eclipse.