As I get into the 7th week of visiting mom in hospital, I've taken some of the last flowers to mom, from the garden which has kind of run wild. I've been using a hedge trimmer to keep down the long grass, and get a kick out using it, since it's a great way to channel my anger.
As I brought some of the last roses up the elevator, some lady snapped at me, asking me if I was actually gardening, since apparently her family member was worse off than mine!
It's hard enough to do anything for myself, let alone the chores that need to be done, and there are always additional colourful people to deal with.
I transplanted hostas, which are 4 feet tall, thinking a porch could be renovated, but that reno is postponed, for focusing on mom. The patience for gardening has helped with the hospital system bureaucracy, and mystery of disease(s).
There's so much to do, that I feel that guilt I started to describe above, nagging at me, since it seems I'm avoiding my mom's health. But gardening is like cleaning, and if weeds don't get chopped down, they can make it difficult to uproot them, as well as be noxious.
My favourite book on spirituality has been Sabbath, which describes the need to nourish oneself,and find the rhythm between work and rest, like the one in nature, so we can support each other. It's a daily battle for me, since I don't want to look back, and think I didn't support my mom, but there are moments when both I and my brother have been on the verge of collapse in the last 6 weeks. I'm sure that even the garden of Eden needed a gardener...