I thought we had a contract, reverse parenting so to speak. I look after you and you look after me when the time comes for reciprocation. For some of you I'm sure it would be considered a selfish expectation of my children. I don't think so; because it is a contract we formed when each of them was born. Their precious little lives belonged to me; their fate in my hands until they reached adulthood and could fend for themselves.
When I held them in my arms, our silent contract and bond was forged. We became dependent on one another, in my mind our lives would be forever intertwined. I looked after them at the most vulnerable parts of their lives and at some point I trusted they would do the same for me, their protector, their confidante, loving friend and mother. I thought we had a contract.
My children were my life. I took care of them and answered their every need. How could I deny them? Being a parent can be a thankless job. When they were hurt, I was there to render my love, attention and an occasional trip to the hospital. My dedication to them for their well-being never wavered. I thought we had a contract.
I take care of you my children until you can discern the world for yourselves and when I begin to age and my mortality becomes something that can no longer be ignored, my hope has been and is that you will honor our contract initiated at your birth.
The silent pact I made with my children has now been consummated. I find myself dependent on them, trusting their judgment and compassion as they did with me. They are now in control of my life, where I live, what I wear and even my finances. My mental state, despite my stroke was left intact without any effects on my speech, but only my will to walk, to be back in control of my life. My will to be me still prevails despite the living arrangements and choices my children have made for me.
As I lay motionless in my nursing home bed thinking back to those days and also taking into account my roommates who resemble me in one way or another. If not only the space we share, but by our age, predicament or whether we are ambulatory, able to sit alone in a chair or wheelchair or even unfortunately for some, bed ridden dependent on the nursing home staff to relieve their body parts from the pressure of lying in one place for too long.
How did I get here? One uneventful day without warning, I had a stroke. I lay on the floor of my home for hours before one of my children found me. I am now without the use of the left side of my body. I suffer deep denial as I look down at my lifeless left arm and leg unable to control their movements or feel the touch of another human being. I can't walk and therefore, I am confined to a wheelchair. I am devastated.
Most of our days are spent either sitting or lying expressionless in silent display as we wait. We wait like quiet, despondent sentinels reflecting over a life snuffed out by consequence. While I wait for my children, our contract runs fleetingly through my mind without distraction or obstacles to hold back the feelings that also run parallel with it.
For now, my life consists of sharing a small room with another woman where we are direct opposites. My roommate prefers the dark stillness and quiet of our room. My life once filled with joy and excitement with the ability to dictate my actions from one minute to the next is now one that is dependent on strangers. I dream and long of being able to have my life back again.
I am still active in my community as I fight to maintain some sense of dignity. My children arranged for transportation for my different outings from the nursing home. Once I return to my humble surroundings, I am again reminded of my dismal and depressing life.
I tell anyone who will listen and with my own self voice constantly in my head saying, I want to go home. I want to walk again. I want to re-gain the use of my left arm. I feverishly pray and hungrily solicit prayers from visitors to ask God when performing their daily prayers to be merciful and restore me back to my prior self.
My life now consists of waiting. So, I wait. I wait for time as it slips away from my grasp and my life with each sunset and sunrise. I wait. I wait for some semblance of recognition from my body that my lifeless left side will be re-stored so I may walk and care for myself again.
I cry. I sob deeply within. If you look close into my eyes you can see the tears, the sadness and the pain as I try with all my might to comprehend why I have been left in this place. I have had to conform to a way of life that I have never known or thought would ever live. I have asked my children to take me to their homes, can't we work something out? With each explanation of why it can't be, their words bitingly remind me and it's as if they don't know... I thought we had a contract.
My food is brought to me on schedule. I am placed in bed on schedule. Diapers have replaced my underwear; they are now a constant reminder of my condition and residency. My life, this life--this life I am living is not life, it is an existence. I exist for my next wake up, next meal, next dress up, my next diaper change and then my next bedtime. Each night I close my eyes for what seems like a few hours and awake to a new day and my constant ritual of being prepped to wait.
I have to believe that I exist occasionally in thought as proven by the infrequent visits of my family and friends. There are many days that loneliness becomes a burden. I feel that I am slowly becoming only a memory not only to my family, but also to those who mattered to me most before my sequestration in this place. So, I wait. The time spent disconnected and suspended by emptiness gives one ample time to ponder life as it is and what it was.
I suppose the easy thing to do would be to give up, succumb to this dreadful existence. My children come see me when they can. I can no longer choose how frequently I see them, my family members or friends. I no longer have that choice.
The fact still remains, I want to go home. For living here for me is not living. I wish to discuss the terms of this contract, but as each day passes it does not appear a negotiation is possible. My children seem oblivious to my plight.
They are comfortable with the obligatory visitations on those special days of the year when family is supposed to draw near. So, I wait and fill my empty moments with memories as a little of myself is given up to the scheduled daily tasks of the staff. I am slowly coming to terms with my situation because it's binding and for me, one sided. I thought we had a contract...
Janice Willingham is an online marketer with interests in health and wellness, affiliate, network and internet marketing. She shares powerful tips, ideas and secrets about achieving success and building massive wealth from information products. Janice Willingham is an affiliate, internet and network marketer with interests in credit restoration, http://www.u2canhavesuccess.com/mailboxmoney.htm
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