I woke up this morning with troubling thoughts swirling around in my mind, and remembered that I started this blog with the intent to write about what was on my mind each morning.
I’ve strayed from that intent.
I think I may look back on this year as the epitome of “midlife.”
I started the year nursing my husband through bilateral knee surgery.
I continue to make every effort to support my mother as she cares for my father who suffers from Alzheimer’s. The needs always changing and shifting. A continuum of problem-solving.
I struggle with denial as I try to make every moment count with my father who slips further and further away.
I’m working to fill my life with meaningful purpose now that my days of child-rearing have come to a close.
I’m trying to nurture and even invigorate a relationship with the man I’ve loved for more than 30 years, well past the days of infatuation. For relationships do require attention to thrive and I want to do more than settle into comfortable routine.
Instead of handling our children’s problems, I discuss them over telephone calls, e-mails, and text messages: a suspended license that defies resolution, teeth implants that will be required, job dissatisfaction.
I look forward with sweet anticipation to the new grandbaby expected to arrive next month.
All the while I try to minimize the strain I put on my arthritic knees and visit the orthopedic doctor at regular intervals for injections.
On a daily basis I deal with ongoing physical issues that result from crashing hormone levels and simply aging, wondering if its time to get a stronger prescription for my bifocals yet again.
Thirty years ago today I first became a mother and was nearly swallowed up by the love and joy.
When I was younger life seemed clearer and perhaps less varied. I was bringing children into the world and caring for them. My concerns were primarily focused on little people whose ages spanned less than a 10-year gap. It seemed busy and complicated at the time.
Now I visit my 2-year-old grandson on a weekend, savoring the joy and laughter.
And I visit my nearly 80-years-old parents on a Monday, holding back and denying the sadness and tears, wondering what changes need to be made so that Mom can still manage taking care of Dad at home. Wondering if we can make those changes. Wondering if she’s going to hold up under the strain. Wondering how long this can last.
Here at midlife, I am smack in the middle of the huge spectrum of life, still trying to understand what it’s all about.