I'm going away. No, no, I haven't cracked and boarded the next bus to Timbuktu. I'm just going to the coast for one night. Twenty-four hours. Well, twenty-one hours if you count the time it takes to get there and back. I was given the money and free childcare and someone is going to be on call to take care of Mark, if need be. I am SO excited. I don't even have words for how excited I am.
I'm not anticipating anything major. I just want to go to dinner and then come back to my room, crack the window so that I can hear the ocean and read all of Amy Bloom's first novel, A Blind Man Could Tell I Love You. Then I'm going to sleep without having to keep an ear out for sick people who could need rushed to the hospital and without being woken up by wandering (and possibly wet) children. I'm going to wake up when I wake up and read some more in bed. Or write. Or whatever floats my bubble at that time. Then after the complimentary breakfast, I'm going to turn in my key and go walk on the beach and take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. Then I'm going to go through the shops -- the little ones, not the outlet mall -- and I'm going to look at all the little knick knacks without having to continually pivot to make sure that little hands are not breaking anything. I might, if I'm lucky, even find the perfect Valentine's gift for my honey. I don't know what that would be yet, but I will when I see it. Then ... home by 4:00 and back to my real life.
I'm not anticipating anything major. I just want to go to dinner and then come back to my room, crack the window so that I can hear the ocean and read all of Amy Bloom's first novel, A Blind Man Could Tell I Love You. Then I'm going to sleep without having to keep an ear out for sick people who could need rushed to the hospital and without being woken up by wandering (and possibly wet) children. I'm going to wake up when I wake up and read some more in bed. Or write. Or whatever floats my bubble at that time. Then after the complimentary breakfast, I'm going to turn in my key and go walk on the beach and take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. Then I'm going to go through the shops -- the little ones, not the outlet mall -- and I'm going to look at all the little knick knacks without having to continually pivot to make sure that little hands are not breaking anything. I might, if I'm lucky, even find the perfect Valentine's gift for my honey. I don't know what that would be yet, but I will when I see it. Then ... home by 4:00 and back to my real life.
I have to say, though, that if America is the melting pot of the world, I am right now the melting pot of emotions. I am so excited to have some time to myself, and yet I feel SO guilty. I know I need to do this though. I know what happens to caregivers who don't take care of themselves. Over time, the caregiver herself will wear down. Her health -- mental and physical -- will show the effects of chronic stress and lack of sleep. By the time the sick person gets well or moves on to the next life, the caregiver is often ill herself, sometimes beyond the ability to rebound. So I KNOW I have to do this, and I am so grateful to those who have made it possible. I just wish I could do it without feeling so guilty. But maybe that's asking for a little too much.
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