…there’s a new world
Eight weeks after taking on elder care, it seems it’s over. After an explosive and dramatic Friday, during which our in-laws staged a clandestine flit, the Old Stone House has returned to quietude and harmony. Remember what I wrote earlier about sometimes people don’t want a rescue, can’t accept help? Seems that’s very true. And so it’s just Gary and me once again in this pile of stone. I’ve gone from having to make three separate menus for every meal back to one. No having to change diapers, doing four loads of laundry a day, two dishwasher runs. No more worry about trying to implement high protein and nutrition for weight gain in two very frail elders, one of whom will eat no fruit or veg, nothing with a foreign-sounding name, no seasoning beyond salt and a hint of pepper. No arguments and hysterics. No marriage counselling. No army of health care workers during a global pandemic.
First, recovery for both of us. The stress was quite remarkable. We find ourselves these past few days simply exploring the garden, chatting about the drama of the past eight weeks, chatting about the future, each other. We found we quickly purged ourselves of the detritus they left.
And we both found ourselves returning to the plans and projects we’d left before this nightmare began. So that’s good. And we’ve both made each other a promise the next time someone needs a rescue, we’re going to let someone else step up.
So, for now Gary will return to building the new terrace. I will return to helping him with that, to mucking about in the garden, and to working on my next novel, Hekja’s Lament.
And just like that, we return to normal.
In the meantime, for your COVID-19 read, you should check out my recent novel, The Rose Guardian. What have you got to lose?