Tonight, I chewed out my 9 year-old son. I didn't yell. I wasn't loud. But I was fierce. And hurtful.
And the worst part is that I didn't care.
Perhaps background info will help since this is my inaugural cry in the dark. I am 44 years old, married to a 36 year old man. Our son is autistic spectrum - lots of troubles with social interaction, physical weaknesses, etc. We homeschool him and have been doing so for the past 4 years.
In mid-August, I had surgery for melanoma. It wasn't particularly brutal like other surgeries I've had but it was pretty significant. My estimated recovery time was 5-6 weeks.
Nine days after my surgery, my husband got sick - very, very sick. Essentially, he crawled into bed on Aug. 26 and has been completely disabled since then. We have just returned from almost three weeks at Mayo Clinic to get a diagnosis. Basically, he had a virus that trashed his autonomic nervous system. His heart, lungs, intestines - all screwed up. It will be six months to a year before he MAY recover.
He is almost completely bedridden, able to walk the six feet from bed to bathroom and back a few times a day.
I carry food up and down the hallway six times a day, a modified diet to assist in my DH's digestive troubles. I make separate meals for my son who has his own set of food thingies. We have a dog and two cats and two fish.
The short version (too late, right?) is that I am responsible for EVERYTHING. You name it, it's my responsibility. Trash bins, bill-paying, automotive maintenance, housecleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, doctor appointments, wheelchair wrestling... all me. Only me. Always.
Did I mention I work? Part time. My supervisor has been very kind throughout this ordeal. But if I don't work, I don't get paid. My insurance for health, home and vehicle don't get paid either because they are all through my employer.
So today I made a small tray of food for my DH to get him through the nearly 4 hours I would be gone to work. I talked to my son. He looked right at me. I described the food, the location in the fridge and that I needed his help to take care of Dad while I was gone. I asked him if he understood everything. "Sure, Mom."
And when I got home, he was glued to the TV - just the way he'd been all day - and I didn't exist. My DH had eaten almost no food, had no drink. The tray I'd made sat right where I left it in the refrigerator.
So I lost it. I cleaned up the fragments of food that my DH had, called the boy into the kitchen and ...
I made him cry. A lot. For a long time.
And I didn't care. I absolutely did not care one bit.
I know I'm breaking. I have no one to rely on for help. I used up all my favors when we were stuck at Mayo for almost three weeks instead of the one week we expected. We are practically broke. Our families are far away and more stress than help even on their best days.
For me, the future is five minutes from now. There is nothing beyond that. I've given up my home, my sons, my job and my dog to give my DH a chance to pursue his degree. Eight years later, I'm still waiting. I have a low-paying crap job, no opportunities to do anything else and now... now I don't even have hope of that changing.
So a nine year-old child who couldn't take five minutes away from the ######6 TV set to carry a small tray of food to his bedridden father got it both barrels.
And I didn't care.
And that makes me sad.