If there is such a thing as being chronically responsible, then I have it.
I was reminded of that this week when I woke up at 2 am and checked my email to see if Jimmy’s hemoglobin A1C test results had come in. They had, and the numbers had risen to just under the limit of diabetes. An English muffin with jelly would be about enough to push him over, it seemed.
For the next hour, I sat awake, researching A1C levels, average glucose levels, pre-diabetes and hearing the words I thought I had smothered several years ago:
“It’s my fault.”
I should have stopped him from eating too many of Mom’s cinnamon jumble cookies at Christmas.
I should have had more protein-based snacks in the house so he wouldn’t make a pancake with sugar-free syrup when he craved a snack.
I should have made him walk with me more.
The full litany of shoulds that rise up one after another in the senseless hour from 2 to 3 am.
I thought I had beaten that particular strain of chronic responsibility years ago when I entered therapy for the first time after Jimmy’s fifth heart attack. After he had had stents 15-17 implanted, his cardiologist told us that yes, he had indeed had a mild heart attack this time. He would need to stay another day until they got his tachycardia under control, a common occurrence after an MI.
I listened to the doctor, sat with Jimmy until he fell asleep for a nap, then went out into the hall, called one of his daughters and cried.
“I can’t believe I let this happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen on my watch.”
Jaymie listened to me, soothed me in her soft, sweet way and told me it wasn’t my fault. My rational self wanted to believe her and knew that we had been walking the walk for ten years to try to keep him healthy. My chronically responsible self was broken, sad and angry. Angry at me. I had failed.
I couldn’t live with the brokenness and the fear that comes from living on ready five. (I’ll talk about this more in this blog.) So I got in with a therapist who had been recommended to me by my Ob/Gyn a few years prior when she tried to broach the subject of my anxiety.
One of the first breakthroughs Bonnie made with me came weeks into our work together as I talked about my fears around Jimmy’s health and my need to control everything I can to keep him from getting sick. To prevent him from dying.
“You’re not that powerful,” she said to me.
The words hung there in the bohemian air of her office. Then there was silence as she let me take them in and wrap my mind around a message that was new to me and necessary for me.
I could do a lot of things. I could do my best to make sure we ate properly and that he got good medical care. But I was not powerful enough to change his genetic pre-dispositions and stop coronary artery disease. And I was not powerful enough to make his choices for him. His choices are his job.
As is the case with most therapy sessions, it didn’t magically transform me. But it opened the door for me to begin discerning what I can control and letting go of the things I cannot control. The serenity prayer made visible and relevant in my life.
I have gotten better since those events in 2011. But this dark, early morning slide nine years later was a reminder to me yet again that healing and growth are not destinations. You don’t “get there.” You progress, you coast, you back slide, you seek more help, you fuse together things you’ve learned and you do the next right thing.
The next right thing was a matter-of-fact discussion with Jimmy in the morning, which he handled very well. Then the next right thing was a talk about what we could change and tighten up, followed by making an appointment to his primary care physician.
The next right thing wasn’t hand wringing, brow beating and angst toward him or myself. So I stayed away from those things as best I could.
The next right and natural thing was to tell him I love him in that moment. The only moment that matters. So I did.
I’m learning that chronic responsibility doesn’t guarantee that love will last longer. The truth is, it can suck the joy right out of it. I’m learning that loosening my grip on responsibility allows me to savor the love of my life while he is in my life. In this moment.
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