I. am. exhausted.
I had heard of “the sandwich generation,” and I vaguely realized that someday I would be a part of it. But I had no idea that I would become part of said generation in an instant, or how devastating the impact would be on me and my family.
I had also heard that adding another family member adds work for the mother exponentially; laundry and cooking and cleaning don’t just seem to increase by a factor of one, but they seem to increase by some weird exponent. That is so true. And it is more true, I think, when that family member acts like a child but is, in reality, an adult.
Yesterday our pastor preached from I John 3, about how love is sacrificial.
I think I am out of love.
That is hard for me to write. It’s hard for me to admit. But it’s how I feel.
I feel like I am completely, and utterly, drained of love. Empty. Void. Dry.
He also preached that love is not a feeling; love is an action.
Does it count if your actions are purely on auto-pilot? I just get up every day and start. We’ve settled into something that resembles a routine, but it’s hard, because she’s my mom, but I have to treat her like a child.
He preached about how love is NOT anger.
But I am full of anger.
I am angry that this happened to my mom…to me…to us. I am angry that we are upside down on our house and can’t sell it right this minute, so we are literally trapped in about 900 square feet with zero privacy. Zero. Privacy. Do you know what zero privacy does for a marriage when one spouse already works nights? I am angry that my mom, beloved Grammy, is picking on my son, her beloved grandson, because her brain is broken, and she is treating him more like an annoying sibling than a loved grandchild. I am angry because I lost my precious, precious time with my son. No more spontaneous trips to the zoo, the park, the Children’s Museum. No more uninterrupted cuddles and playtime. And it’s not like he suddenly has a baby sibling to rejoice over and share his time with.
And like I said, I am so exhausted. We had *finally* gotten into a good sleep routine. Now it’s interrupted, again. She needs medicine and help to the bathroom; he is having nightmares and needs extra attention when he can get it.
I don’t know why I am spilling all of this out here, except I don’t know where else to spill it. My friends are amazing, and are bringing meals, and sending encouraging texts and voicemails and emails.
But I am just…struggling.
And there is no real end in sight.