The passing of time is said to heal all wounds. I have found this to be false. The passing of time , for me , just seems to build a compartment in my mind where the hurt can be stored.
There have been events in my life that have wounded me deeply and time has never healed those wounds. They have left scars on my soul that have made me what I am today ; be it good , bad or ugly.
They have a direct influence on the way I react in certain situations. In some areas they have made me stronger and in others they have made me wary. Some have molded or changed my core beliefs for the better and some have inspired self destructive behavior.
There are events that occurred twenty-five years ago that I choose not to talk about because of the emotions that they invoke. And there is one that happened last month that has left me adrift in a sea of doubt.
My father died the first week of January after a valiant struggle with Parkinson’s Disease. He and I had spent every hour of every day together for the last six years. My life was his life. My day revolved around his needs. From the time we got out of bed all the way around the clock until we got out of bed again it was the two of us.
The time of day was told by what part of the routine we were performing. Whether it was a shower or one of his meds , that he received four times a day , I knew what time of day it was this way.
Now that he is gone I don’t know how to define myself. I am not sure what my purpose is supposed to be. I do not know where I should turn for guidance. Some have suggested I write a book for care givers.
I have actually started one but the reason is that I don’t want to forget the experience that I was afforded by caring for my father. I don’t want those memories to lie dormant in some compartment I have fabricated in my psyche. I want them out so that every one can see what an honor it is to care for some one that you love.
I want them to know that when you are tired and burnt out that you will be rewarded with the memories that will sustain you for life. I want them to know that when they are gone there will be a void in their lives that will be very , very , difficult to fill.
Even though my fathers passing was a blessing for him and even though we spent every day together for six years I still long for one more day. I would give anything to bathe him again or help him stand and walk. To feed him or clean him. To tuck him and tell him” nighty-night”.
I love him and I miss him terribly and those two things will never change with time.