What you don't know...

A few years ago, when I was still in the middle of my active caregiving and wasn't "working" but actively setting up a caregiving plan for my grandmother, I started dating a guy. Ultimately, details about the guy are unimportant, but I remember there being conflict that I didn't have the same flexibility in schedule as a "normal girl."

I couldn't do spontaneous dates (Who was going to watch Grandma THAT last minute?). If I was out too many late nights, invariably when I returned home my Grandmother would be going through old letters at 2am because no one was in the room to tell her to stay in bed. Medication would still be sitting on a table because there was a point when only I could convince her to take her night medication. Although I wasn't working, I had to physically be in my house every weekday morning at 7am to help my grandmother shower and let home health aides into the house. And overnights had to meticulously fit into a schedule that worked for me, my mom, and various home health aides. That will take the romance out of an overnight quickly. 

At the time, I felt some resentment, because I remembered when I was  fun. Don't get me wrong, I've always been a little uptight about my schedule, and I'm like the only person under 75 who still walks around with a physical planner. But I remember that glorious time, post college, when I had disposable income, and was over 21, and that was all I needed to be down for a good time. Not so much during that time in my life. I remember actively wishing that the boy could know the me BEFORE, the one without so many... responsibilities. I felt like I was never presenting my best self to him and that he was somehow signing on for so much more by getting involved with me at that point in my life. Ultimately, other things led to the dissolution of that situation, but I carried that concern for years afterwards. 

Fast forward to present day. I went on a few dates around the holidays last year, and every time I mentioned that every weekend I go visit my grandmother at her nursing home, the date would usually reply: "That's nice of you." Now, don't get me wrong. That is a normal response. In fact, that's a nice response. These guys probably thought they were saying something about me being a good granddaughter/person. 

And yet, for a brief moment, internally, I would get stunningly angry. Like yelling inside my head angry. In my head, I would reply "What the hell? Of course I visit her every weekend. And that still doesn't feel like enough. And I'm losing her slowly. And that's like losing a part of me slowly. AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA!"

And that is usually where I would stop, because honestly, they would have NO idea. How could they? They never met that version of me. They didn't know me when my day revolved around taking care of her. They'll never know that at one point I could recite verbatim the names, dosages and common effects of medications that treated memory, bladder control, heart burn, blood pressure, seizures and so on. They don't know that even after I started working, I was waking up 2x a night to help her walk to the bathroom, when she became a serious fall risk. Or that my mom and I didn't go to the grocery store for over a month because we couldn't both leave the house at the same time on a weekend. No, they'll never know that version of me. 

Is it wrong that I feel sad about that? From late 2008 until just 8 months ago, that was my life. And I feel like that part of my life is just as intrinsically a part of my person as my brown eyes, my 5'4" frame, or my big behind. The physical markings of my being caregiver may never be present, but I feel them, everyday as part of my soul. 

Are new people in my life going to always miss out on that part of me? Will I eventually be able to accept that five years of my life can be summed up as being "nice of me?" I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I figure it out.