Perspective

I work from home.  Each morning, while I am occupied at my desk, Randy will often get up just to open and close the bedroom door.  Over and over, for long periods of time.

Once that activity has run its course, he will quietly walk down the hallway, stopping just short of me being able to see him.  Almost as if he is hiding.  There he will stand, silently.  Until I acknowledge him or until he decides to return to the bedroom.

Upon his return to the bedroom, he will either go back to sleep or sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

This cycle repeats for hours.

And it stresses me out!

I worry that he's distressed or confused or scared or any other troublesome state that my mind can conjure. 

When I can take no more, I brace myself and go to him.  Only to discover, he's fine.  Bonus is, he's happy to see me.

My brain goes into Mommy mode and the nurture instinct tells me he needs to be coddled and fixed.  He must be struggling. Fretting.

Perspective

I am the one struggling.  Fretting.  

He is simply rolling along his routine of repetition.  His normal.  He's not hurting anyone or himself.  He's ok.

Perspective

The TV is always on.  He watches reruns of old sitcoms. The same ones every single day.  He watches them in silence, with a blank expression.  Sometimes I don't think he is even aware of what he is seeing.  Just lost in the abyss.

And I stress.  Worried that I can't offer him anything to end his boredom.  What a meager existence I am providing him.  

Yet, everyday he asks me to turn his shows on.

His routine comforts him.  Small changes are ok but a constant is needed, hence, his tv shows.

Today he chose to join me in the kitchen (where my work station resides), as we have a recliner and TV there for him.  He curled up with the cat and began watching his shows.

And, just as my worry started to creep in, I heard him talking sweetly to the cat and giggling at the TV.  His speech was mostly gibberish but he was in a place I haven't witnessed in awhile.

This went on for some time.  A happiness he doesn't often show and I forgot he was capable of.

 I realized I had gained perspective.

I think as caregivers (or parents, for that matter) we charge ourselves with an unrealistic responsibility for the health and well being of our loved ones.  Almost to a fault.

I've realized that what I can't control or understand results in the automatic mindset that I am failing to properly care for him.  

I'm the "Mom".  It's my job to fix it.  To fix him.

My perspective...

It is quite possible that I'm causing some of my own worry by projecting my fears and insecurities.  (Are you as shocked as I am?)

I can't fix him.  I can't cure him.  And, I can't completely erase my own stress.

However, I can continue to learn to be a better support person for him as we move forward on this macabre journey of ours.  

I'm doing my best and he really is doing well...in spite of it all.

Never lose your perspective.

Cheers 💜