Icebergs, Elephants, and Landmines


Icebergs, Elephants, and Landmines

Grotto in an iceberg, photographed during the ... Grotto in an iceberg, photographed during the British Antarctic Expedition of 1911-1913, 5 Jan 1911 (Photo credit: National Library NZ on The Commons)

There is an elephant in the room. It's called depression. It's called dementia. It's called spinal cord injury. BiPolar 'disorder.''Dis' 'Order' (two words). That disorderly house of our souls that wants everything to be in order. My internal house. My mom fell yesterday. I know her call for help that is, okay,  it's downright annoying.

It's please come here and pay attention to me (again). Dementia. Commonalities. Denial. Grief.   I know her call for help that says  Oh Dear God. She Fell. Dad!!!!! Come Now!!! Mom fell!!!! Got her up. "I don't need you." Uh, yeah, you do. Mom fell and you can barely walk. Okay, now I can work on my SSI Disability Papers and get to my computer lifeline. You know who you are.

Mom! What are you doing??? Why don't you come have lunch???

I have to get the laundry out.

No, you don't.

Oh Dear God what am I feeling now it's buried in the icebergs filled with land mines that are converging on the elephant in the room that we must face at some point and it may get destroyed by all of the emotions I can't get in touch with if I continue navigating the mines. Sigh. Relief. No time for relief.

Dad fell now. Help!!!

I'm fine.

No, you're not, Dad. you hit your head. Do you want me to call the doctor?


Okay,  I have to abide by your wishes. (Worrying now; are you okay?).

Run for Cover! Hide? No. Get Dad Up. Relax? Me? When? How?????  I'm to used to stress. Distress. How. How do I beige validation (@kreisler)? How to pet the elephant in the room and welcome it. @doug88888 on Twitter was kind enough to give me permission to use the image I hope you see.

I hope you can virtually pet that elephant, give it a name, and love it, allow it into your home as well.

Allow It To Be.



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Thank you EJ . . . I'd really like to quote you. Thank you. Yes I feel like I have to pollice my parents and be superhuman. Bless your heart. Il


One would think safety is/should be an absolute, but in reality it is often a series of compromises. That is something I still struggle with. My partner has her own way of doing things; often it means she doesn't listen to doctors.\r\n\r\nI used to feel I was being negligent if I didn't police her; wasn't this my job? Wasn't I responsible? If something bad happened on my watch, what would her family think? Well, her family's been almost completely uninvolved and uncommunicative. I'm the one who's here.\r\n\r\nI've had to learn to pick my battles. My partner's fallen, too -- passed out cold in one case. She came to as I was on the phone with a 911 dispatcher and didn't want to go to the ER. (She was okay after I got some electrolytes into her.)\r\n\r\nIt feels wrong to go <i>que sera sera</i>. It feels like giving up. It feels like not caring (and thus guilt-inducing). But sometimes, it's what I have to do. Sometimes she admits that she needs my help after all, but I've had to let her try and fail on her own first. It really is like walking a tightrope without a net -- but (to use a phrase my partner hates) it is what it is.\r\n\r\nI've had to give myself permission to let things be, when that seems the best decision in the long run. Even when it seems crappy.

Il\r\n\r\nAddendum here is the link to the photo of an elephant. Enjoy! :) il