This Body is Bullshit

Kathy had a birthday. We were able to steal her away for a few hours while Michael stayed with my dad. She still carries everything. Working, updating the house, managing my dad, hospice, caregivers, medications and everything else. I tell her to sit down. Rest. Relax. Do absolutely nothing for a little while. She literally cannot sit still.

Donna is the same way, and sometimes I’m afraid it’s killing her.

Tomorrow Kathy leaves for Florida to spend some time with Melissa and have actual fun. My dad is going back to the respite facility while she’s gone, and I hate it. I know why he’s going. I know it’s the safest option. I know Kathy needs to be able to leave without worrying every second. I know I can’t do it by myself. I know he was fine there last time. I know all of that, and I still hate it. Something about him being there feels like abandonment even though I know it isn’t. Will he think we left him? Will he be scared? He doesn’t understand why he’s there. And maybe part of what bothers me is that every change in his care feels like another acknowledgment that this is progressing whether I like it or not. Lately he’s seemed pretty status quo, whatever the hell status quo means with dementia. I like status quo. I’ll take status quo for as long as I can get it. George, their dog, is coming to stay with us while Kathy is gone. He’s sweet and gentle and big and hairy and takes food off the counter.

Meanwhile, Megan is struggling. Donna is struggling. Completely different circumstances and completely different lives, but I worry about both of them. I wish I could fix things for the people I love. The 50s are turning out to be wonderful and awful. Everyone seems to be dealing with something — health, parents, kids, marriages, money, grief, work, just fucking life. But who ever said life wasn’t hard? It’s awful a lot. And yet somehow I always seem to be fine. How come I always seem to be fine?

Anyway, I’ve gotten back into audiobooks. Dark ones, obviously. Murder, psychopaths, serial killers, horrible people doing horrible things. I get so sucked in while driving that sometimes I reach my destination and don’t want to get out of the car. Currently I’m listening to The Fourth Monkey. I picked it because it’s set in Chicago. I think it’s going to be fucked up. Yes!

But something in the book recently sent my brain in a completely different direction. How did we decide worms were good fishing bait? Seriously. Who was the first person who dug up a worm, looked at it and thought, Fish are going to fucking love this. Let’s put a hook through it. Do fish naturally encounter earthworms in lakes? Do worms fall in? Are there aquatic worms? How was this discovered? I don’t know why this bothered me enough that I needed answers, but it did. These are the important questions occupying my brain between dementia, HR, friends, family and serial killers.

I’ve also become completely obsessed with my zinnias. They’re blooming and I check them constantly. The monarchs are showing up too, and there is something about seeing a monarch land on a flower I grew that makes me ridiculously happy.

I’ve also been saving quotes lately. Some profound, some inspiring, some slightly hostile. Naturally, the slightly hostile ones tend to speak to me.

“Fear doesn’t stop death, it stops life.”

“It’s a luxury to have zero health problems.”

“Life can be a dick. Sometimes it gets hard for no reason.”

Accurate.

And then there’s everyone’s favorite: “It could have been worse.”

No shit. It could have been a lot better too. I don’t know why we’re always supposed to make ourselves feel better by imagining a worse version of our lives. Sometimes something just sucks. We’re allowed to say it sucks without immediately acknowledging that somewhere, someone has it harder.

Speaking of things sucking, I was really bummed when the Florida trip with Donna and Terry fell through. I wanted that escape. I always want Florida. But apparently I’m incapable of going very long without finding something else to look forward to. Next month we’re going camping with Heather and Rusty. They rented a big-ass RV and I already know it’s going to be hilarious. I just love hanging out with them. We’re very compatible travelers. Then Crissy and the kids are taking a trip in November and bringing Kathy, and I’ve been invited to join them. I’m really excited to spend time with them. And then, as I keep saying, February. Mexico. Sunshine, ocean, Natalie, adventure. I cannot fucking wait. It’s not lost on me how lucky I am. I have some pretty fantastic people in my life who plan fun shit and then say, you should come. And somehow I keep getting invited along. I am incredibly grateful for their generosity and that they want me there. I know how fortunate I am.

Maybe that’s really what all of this is. My life doesn’t stay in one emotional lane for more than about seventeen minutes. I’m sad about my dad and excited about a butterfly. I’m worried about my friends and wondering about worms. Hospice has somehow become part of our normal life while I’m making vacation plans. I’m listening to people get murdered in my earbuds while admiring my flowers. I’m worried, grateful, tired, excited, pissed off and happy, sometimes all before lunch.

Maybe that’s just life at this age. There isn’t a clean chapter where all the hard stuff ends and then we get to enjoy everything again. I think for a long time I assumed there would be. Get through this thing, then things will calm down. Get through that thing, then I’ll relax. Get Dad settled. Get through work. Get the house organized. Get everybody I love okay. Except everybody is never going to be okay at the same time. Something is always going to be happening. Someone will need something. Something will hurt. Something will scare me. A plan will fall apart and another one will show up.