Spent the weekend with my folks. It was their 62nd anniversary. They didn't know I was coming, and they were happy at the surprise. I sometimes find it hard to be patient with them in this new iteration of themselves, these old people who have taken over where my parents used to be. I want to be better. I work consciously toward being better. But the dynamic shift has thrown me. I had underestimated how much I still depended on them in my mental world. That sense that they would always be there for me. It's been true my whole life. And now it's not. They can't be anymore. It's my turn to be there for them. And I am happy to do it. But really, it's much harder than I am prepared for.
It's not unlike when you become a parent and you have no friggin' idea what you are doing, but you have to figure it out because you've got that baby and that baby needs you. Except now you are much older and even more tired and you aren't as desperately in love with those in your care. Oh, you love them deeply. But the mama bear thing does not drive you. There is a tenderness. There is also mourning. You miss your parents the way they were even just a few years ago. You worry about them—so much worry. So many questions about what is the right thing to do. Instead of leading them toward independence, as with a child, you must start to take their independence away from them. Everybody is a little bit afraid.
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