Care Giving Journal -
Last year my dad helped me plant two rosebushes in my backyard. Later, I planted another by myself.
My dad lives with us. He sleeps across the hall from my husband and me. The light he leaves on late into the night often wakes me even with my door closed. I’m a light sleeper; I’m a mother.
It’s awkward to mother your father. I don’t do it very well. When it comes to him, I feel I don’t do anything very well. Guilt. Shame. It’s life on a roller coaster. And I’m not a fan of roller coasters. I always regret the ride.
I tell myself, “This is just how it is. It must be normal to have these conflicting feelings.” Sometimes that helps for a bit. But then the ride dips and my equilibrium is disturbed. I am dizzy. Then I’m nauseous. I get sick. But the man in the booth does not stop the ride.
My husband tells me, “Breathe.” I do. He tells me my deep sighs are waking him up at night. Last week he woke me from a nightmare. I was in a dilapidated car with the windows busted out. It was dark and I was alone and scared. A dog rushed through an opening. He lunged at me encircling my wrist with his sharp teeth. I called for help as I tried to pry his teeth apart. My husband touched me. The nightmare over, I lay in the dark waiting for my heart beat to slow and my racing mind to calm.
My rose bushes are producing in abundance. I clip the blooms and fill mason jars and milk glass vases and put them throughout the house.Written by Melanie Dorsey - Visit Website