As previously shared, I have a pacemaker. I received it ten years ago, so the way I look at it, I’m already living on borrowed time. I should have died ten years ago, but technology has kept me ticking past my expiration date. Every six months, I have a doctor’s appointment to have my device checked. It’s rather unsettling to know that I am equipped with Wi-Fi. It allows them to scan me with a gun like device and run tests. They can speed my heart up, or down, even make it skip a beat. I once asked if I could be hacked, they said no…I don’t believe them. Anyway, I also asked, if something were to happen to the device, how long would I have? I was told, “Mmm, about an hour.” It’s terrifying to know that I am that dependent on this thing inside my chest. I don’t like being dependent on anything, least of all, a battery pack.
About an hour…about an hour…this notion plagues me. No off the grid adventures for this lady, I want to always be near a hospital. Fortunately, I live on the right side of the tracks, I live on the same side as the nearest hospital. I’ve heard countless stories of folks who have passed in an ambulance while waiting for the trains to pass in this town. Nope, that’s not going to be my story. However, I’ve often wondered, what if, by some circumstance, beyond my control, I found myself in a predicament where my pacemaker went awry and I was more than an hour away from a hospital. What would I do? If I had a phone, whom would I call? More importantly, would I still try to reach a hospital or just throw my hands up in the air and admit defeat? Yes, these are the things I think about on a regular basis, I’m that morose. I think the honest answer is, I don’t know.
Very shortly, I will be reaching the two-thirds (if I’m lucky) point of my lifespan. I will admit, this notion is weighing heavy on my mind. Having recently injured my shoulder with a fall where I literally could not get up on my own, I have declared myself officially old. I now qualify for senior discounts at select locations and most everything is requiring more effort than it used to. Remembering simple things, getting over a cold, climbing stairs, hell, just walking has become a challenge, but that doesn’t stop me from tending to Groovy Gail’s Garden.
I recently took a selfie in my garden and sent it to many folks, including my therapist. In our last session he said, “I must ask. I have so many clients that are struggling, but in the picture you sent me, you seem so joyful and content. Why?” I told him, because I was in my garden, a place that I have created, over many years, and with lots of hard work, I have made something that is mine. There’s a lot of satisfaction to be derived from being self-sufficient. Yes, I acknowledge that my father helped me greatly by keeping a roof over my head, and that of my children. He gave me the freedom to do what I needed to do and what I wanted to do, for my family, which included him. However, we were a team, I helped him, he helped me, it wasn’t lollipops and rainbows, but it worked. In the end, our relationship allowed me to be free and independent.
I didn’t enjoy being under my father’s thumb, “His house, his rules.” was something I had to contend with, but a “suck it up, buttercup” attituded allowed me to give my kids a descent life, even without their father being present. In many ways, I felt stuck, trapped and maybe a little bit tortured, but I knew I was doing what was best for my kids’ wellbeing. When they were old enough, and I was earning enough that I could possibly consider moving out on my own, my father was of an age where he now needed me, and I would never leave him to fend for himself, not after all he had done for us. It wasn’t easy, and it eventually got hard, but I am very proud of the fact that I was holding my father’s hand, in his own home, when he took his final breath.
After he passed away, I thought it would be easier, but it was just different. Now I had to deal with being a full-grown adult, by handling his estate and becoming the homeowner. When we had another home repair bill to deal with, Dad always used to sarcastically say, “Proud Homeowner.” Now, it was my turn to pay the bills on my own, so instead of feeling the freedom I thought I would, once I was no longer under his thumb, I felt more trapped than ever. There was no more team to handle the bills, it was just me, but I managed, somehow, I always manage.
I have come to realize that my freedom is what I value most. I need to feel that I have the power to come and go as I please. As soon as I feel trapped, I begin to break down. I don’t like being in crowds, I don’t like being the passenger in someone else’s car, and I certainly do not like being financially dependent on someone else. Staying with my father had allowed me to find that freedom, even though when he was alive, I felt trapped, because I stayed, I found my way to freedom. Dad passed away 8 ½ years ago, but I still have his coat and hat hanging on the back porch. I can’t bring myself to put it away. So, maybe in a way, I am still trapped, I’m just not ready for that much freedom.
Last night, when I got home from work, I knew the weather was going to be getting hot the next day, so there were certain things I had to do as a “Proud Homeowner” to be prepared. I don’t have central air, but I have portable AC units. I purchased them over the years, replacing the window units I had because I knew there would come a time when I didn’t have someone to help me carry a window unit up from the basement, all the way up to my second story bedroom, and install it. All the years of the heated (literally) arguments as my kids were installing them while the temperature was rising both inside and out, but at least we had some relief from the heat once tempers settled down. Now, I conveniently keep them stored in closets, so when the temperatures begin to rise, I can independently roll them out and set them up. It’s still a good amount of work, but I can do it on my own.
However, before I could get that task done, I had to water my garden. There’s not much rain in our forecasts over the next week, and I was losing daylight, so I decided to water my garden first. I realized, I had about an hour…about an hour of daylight to get it done. There was that statement, about an hour, time is slipping away, what will I do with that hour? My heart sunk at the thought of two thirds of my life (if I’m lucky) being over and only one third remains. But, there’s work to be done, even with the sore shoulder, that I injured during a fall in my garden, and couldn’t get up by myself. I uncoiled the garden hose from the hooks I put into the wall to hang it from. The hose rack Dad had hung broke years ago, and this was what I could come up with since I didn’t want another plastic contraption, that would just break again. Dad drilled the holes, I found a way to still work with them, teamwork.
Tired and soar, I dragged the hose over to my tiered garden beds, the ones I made by repurposing the compost bins my kid stopped using. I filled them with tree branches and garden soil, I planted a variety of flowers and vegetables in them, I topped the bed with mulch, yes, I did that. Once again, I reminded myself, I have about an hour to water the garden and just as my heart was about to sink, again, I saw something that made it soar. I said out loud, “Look at you!” as I spied three cucumbers and laughed. I grew cucumbers! To most people, that probably wouldn’t mean anything, no big deal, so you grew three cucumbers, whatever. It’s taken most of a lifetime, two thirds (if I’m lucky) of a lifetime to reap the rewards of struggling to become independent enough to grow three cucumbers in my own garden, the garden I now have because I did stay with dad, because I did “suck it up, buttercup” for my kids’ well-being. No regrets.
A lot can be accomplished in about an hour, one might even find their freedom…three cucumbers!
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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