Living in a Kaleidoscope: Caregiving, Grief, and Making Space for Something New

I feel like I am living in a kaleidoscope of emotion. Each day, the dial spins and everything mixes up and I land on a mood of the day. One day is despair. One day determination. Another day is elation. It would be nice to land on a pattern that isn’t a complete surprise everyday.

My son and the orphaned pitbull moved out. I realized what a huge responsibility a dog is. I guess since most of my adult life I have been caring for multiple people at any given moment, a dog seems minor–food, exercise, affection, a vet visit now and then, maybe a trip to the groomer’s a few times a year. But for a schizophrenic man who struggles on the daily with basic life skills, I realized paying attention to a dog might be asking a lot. But my son says, it’s been good. The dog forces him out of bed; he has to go outside with her and he has to take her everywhere so it makes him think about where he is going and how he is spending money, and just in general living more purposefully. I am cautiously optimistic that the dog is a good decision. I am not going to lie, feeling like I have my house back feels like a victory. And my cat is thrilled.

So about the despair. I have continued to visit my friend in the nursing home and lately it’s been rough. When I arrived at my last visit, she was in tears and said that she wanted to die. I did somethings to help her be more comfortable, but I hated leaving her. I went home and was absolutely destroyed. I hate being witness to the breakdown of her body.

I remembered when I was seven and had an appendix attack, she came over and helped my mom take me to the hospital. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t walk and she carried me from car to the hospital. When my parents died, her number was the first I called, because she has always been so strong and known the right thing to do to fix things. And now I am doing nothing for her, just watching her suffer. It is soul crushing.

Sometimes throwing myself into an art project or a writing project can cheer me up, so I did both. I have picked up weaving and I am in the middle of making a pillow and a pair of shoelaces. The pillow at least will make a good gift, but the shoelaces? I don’t even think I actually have shoes that tie. I wear boots, flip-flops, or Vans. But warping the shoelace loom was surprisingly calming. In theory, I can make other things on it–bands, belts, guitar straps. I was wondering about horse halters. I could make decorative show halters and name my brand–Showing on a Shoelace. I know this isn’t an idea to carry me into retirement. I have no desire to be one of those women dressed in tie-dye muumuus and big hats chatting up customers at craft fairs, but I do like weaving.

I also have been learning a bit about screen writing. Here is the truth, I have movies in my head. I have never felt like I could admit that before, but why not? Putting stories with images seems like a nice blend of all my skills. I started a short story a long time ago about a stagecoach driver hiding from the Civil War by coming West. He meets some characters on a trip and learns that courage isn’t about waving flags and men shouting about what they’d die for. Courage is quieter, more about moving ahead and keeping the wheels turning. I never felt the story was done, but I had an idea about it being a film and all the missing pieces fell into place. I finished my first draft of the screenplay and I was so pumped afterwards. It felt like finding the right road after years of searching.

I am not sure how all this relates, other than I don’t think any of it is random. The dog leaving. The quiet house. Watching someone I love fade. Learning to weave, to write for screen, to imagine all the things that haven’t existed yet. I am holding endings and beginnings at the same time.

This is what making space look like. It’s not junking everything out, it’s rearranging things so that I can breathe. I am learning grief doesn’t cancel creativity, but creativity doesn’t erase grief. They sit side by side, turning slowly like colored glass in a kaleidoscope. I don’t know what will show up tomorrow, but, I’m here moving forward, keeping the wheels turning.