We just returned from visiting my parents in Florida. My father has cancer and is not doing too well. Although the plan was to go for Christmas I felt P and I should go ASAP when I heard the cancer had spread throughout his whole body.
My visits “home” are always stressful. Each visit I realize home is really California. Believe it or not, despite the smog, I breathe easier over here. This visit was even more complicated because of my father’s health. Also as P gets older I am more conscience of the kind of parent I want to be…or the kind of life I want for my children. I’m still processing what happened over the week. There are a few things I know.
- I want to teach P some of the same lessons I learned throughout my childhood but I want the process to be way different.
- I finally realized I was raised among a great deal of anger. I do not want that environment for my children. This means I really, really need to focus on getting rid of that anger in me.
- Every time I get a visit from my parents or go visit my parents I anticipate getting a break from my mothering routine. I expect I’ll get to see a movie, or get regular exercise or shop alone at least once. None of this ever happens. I’ve come to the conclusion that breaks do not come from my family’s help. I want to remember this because should I have the blessing of being a grandmother some day I want to really be there for my children and their children.
- I worry about my children’s relationship with my family.
The environment in Florida was so stressful P was feeling it. My patience was thin and that in turn affects P. It takes a great deal of patience, understanding and creativity to spend time with a toddler whose finding their role and boundaries in the world. I have nothing extra to give especially when people are making my daily routine even harder.
I am glad we got to see my dad. But, it was so hard to see him. He’s always been an active man and to see him post a chemo session, without any energy was so tough. He’s lost a lot of weight. P seemed almost scared of him. I’ve had to let go of trying to help him because he does not want any help. Like many men of his generation and Latin up bringing this is HIS cancer and he’ll handle HIS death on HIS terms. The only thing I can do is do whatever it takes to not have any “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve”, which is why I went.
I want to give my child so much more than what I had. Like a snake, I feel I have to shed my skin of guilt, anger, frustration and pain and have a new skin and philosophy about life all around. But right now I feel like a shitty mother for not being able to shield P from the stress of the trip. I’m exhausted. I’m jealous of happy people who make it look so easy and hate those who won’t just let me be me. My days of crawling into my bed and sleeping it off for a few hours are so gone. Now, this is what I do. I write.
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