I was up early this morning and out the door about an hour later. I went to get mom yogurt and bananas, her usual breakfast. We were out. When I got home I barely spoke to mom. She noticed and asked if I was mad at her.
The truth was, I wasn’t. I’m not. I’m not mad at myself, either. But I do need more alone time than I’m getting. Introverts are fueled by alone time. We thrive with lots of time on our own with not so much as a store cashier intruding on our isolation. (I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t terribly kind to a Costco cashier today who was trying to be helpful when all I wanted was to be left alone. Self-check out lanes are intended to be self-check out, are they not?)
I wasn’t afforded the time alone that I needed, but she did go to bed early and that gave me a couple of hours on my own before I had to call it a night. It’s just another of the many challenges of being a caregiver. Some people thrive in lots of contact with others. They feed off the energy of their friends, family members, and even strangers. I can’t do that. I wish I could. Oh to be an extrovert, eh?
This is a phase and I’ll get over it. Someday soon I’ll be bouncy and friendly and more fun than I was today. At the moment, however, my fervent wish is a month, that’s all, just a single month of neither speaking to nor seeing another living soul in all the world. Ah, wouldn’t that be great? I’ve thought a lot about what I’m going to do when mom dies and my caregiving duties are over. That’s one thing I’ll do for myself. I’ll retreat to someplace isolated to be alone, finally. As much as I want mom to live forever, I cannot wait until I get to be alone again.