From the vortex of grief: The search for compassion

 I write this on your birthday. There's so much on my mind that I haven't said to you. I don't know if I'll ever say all this to you, because being honest and being cruel don't seem very different at this point. But there's also all the love I have for you, and I find myself feeling this strange mixture of emotions - love, sorrow, pain, grief and hatred. I write this as much for me as for anyone else, as a catharsis from the intensity of watching a parent go through chronic illness and deterioration.

Whenever I call, I hear your screams in the background. I hear the constant pain, the panic, and anxiety. The shrieks of a tortured soul existing. Not living, but merely existing, every moment spent so agonizingly. I genuinely feel sad for you, but I feel sadder for Mom. 'For better or worse, in sickness and in health' sounds glorious during a wedding, but surely there must be a limit to the worse and the sickness? How does one live with a spouse who not only goes through hell but makes your life hell too? How does one go through this day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, with no respite? Every day seems a nightmare, and not knowing how many days there are is an even bigger nightmare. Mom asks me in tears How many years of this? And what after? I have no answers. I tell her that she has a choice, that she can choose to set a limit on the worse and look for other options beyond that. Those are harsh words, and she won't consider them seriously. She sees no choice, because anything other than taking care of you through your worst means that she cannot live with herself. And so she goes on with this, trying to stay sane. At times, I wonder if you realize what a staunch and resilient spouse you have. If you will ever acknowledge, let alone be grateful for all that she has sacrificed for you. I mourn that this never occurs to you.

I watch you both, hand in hand, going down this spiral of darkness and grief, and it makes me feel so utterly helpless. I rage at you. I beg you, I plead with you. To not scream a thousand times every day. To make this a little bit easier for everyone involved. But you look at me blankly and say I can't help it. I don't know what to make of that. Maybe you speak the truth. Maybe you are not trying to make life miserable for your family. Maybe this is your reality, and whoever lives with you is just collateral damage. Chronic illness is a different world; only those who inhabit it daily can truly understand what it means.

Still, I can't find it in myself to fully forgive you. The child in me still looks at you as a fully capable adult, and I want you to take responsibility for your actions. I want you to look at us and realize that we are going through a difficult time too. I want you to talk to us and hear our side of the story too. I feel deprived of a parent too soon; I feel deprived of my youth too soon. But you only talk in screams, and I don't understand that language.

I feel an increased distance between us. Even when I visit with good intentions, I hit a glass wall. Yesterday, I came with cake to wish you. To say nice things to you. To tell you that I loved you no matter what. To tell you how sad I felt to see you like this. To hope and wish for a better year than the last. You started screaming as usual, without rhyme or reason, and I looked at Mom's tired face and sleepless eyes and lost it. I couldn't even meet your eyes. I gave the cake to Mom and was about to leave. I did not even want to say goodbye to you. I hated you for what you were doing to her. For what you were doing to us. Then you said Don't forget me. And the plaintiveness in your voice made me swing all the way from hatred to grief, and then to guilt and self-loathing. How could I treat you this way? One day you'd be gone, and then I'd regret how stupidly I acted. I'd hate that you felt so alone and trapped in your pain, and that I could never be there for you. And so, I held your hand, and reassured you that I'd never forget you. I could not bring myself to say any more than that, and I left, feeling those complicated emotions again.

This is not one of those rosy birthday wishes, but it is an honest one. From one flawed human to another. I fervently wish that the next year brings you more peace and calm. That you don't struggle as much. And I promise to not judge you as much, and to be there for you in the small ways I can. Happy birthday!