Sandwiched
As you could tell from last week’s column, I recently hit a low point on my sandwich generation journey. I also got sucker punched with some other news that left me quite frustrated, a familiar emotion to many of us in this situation.
You may know my friend Jan Hart Leonard, whose Reporter column you hopefully read every week. (It is excellent.) Jan’s been inviting me to her “therapy” sessions with friends at Ginger’s Café on Tuesdays. I’ve put it off due to my grant consulting business getting quite busy recently.
Finally, my husband John looked me in the eye on Saturday and said, “You need to GO!” He could tell it was time for me to share my burdens with others who would understand and to help them as well. I texted Jan last Monday and entered my first session on Tuesday.
Why on earth did I delay?
This circle of ladies was just what I needed. All of us are taking care of our moms in one way or another. I expected we’d all tell stories that would be somewhat sad at times, which did happen.
What I didn’t expect was the laughter. There truly are moments on this journey where you just have to shake your head, look up at God with a baffled expression, and chuckle.
I shared one recent story with my new friends. On the Saturday before Christmas, I noticed Mom needed more toilet paper. I ran to Dollar General and brought her eight DOUBLE rolls, thinking that would easily tide her over until her next grocery order.
Imagine my surprise two days later when she called me while we were visiting my father-in-law in Illinois and said, “I’m out of toilet paper.”
Furrowing my brow, I replied, “Mom, I brought you eight rolls just two days ago. They’re under your bathroom sink.”
A couple of minutes later Mom returned to the phone and said “No, they’re not there.” Completely puzzled, I told her to ask the facility for a roll and I would investigate when I came to pick her up Christmas Day.
Sure enough, on the holiday, I walked into her apartment and went right to the bathroom. I saw zero toilet paper other than what the facility gave her.
“Mom,” I said, “This is bizarre. We don’t even go through eight double rolls in my OWN household in a week.” (There are four of us).
To this day, the Disappearing Toilet Paper Mystery has not been solved.
After we all had a good laugh over that story, I looked at my phone and realized that it was time to go back to work. I told the ladies that I may not be there every week, but they’d see me soon.
Was my work affected? Well, yes. I had taken an hour away from it … to discover it made me even more productive. My mind and heart were lighter and I could focus better on applications.
So, if you’re on this journey, please remember to take time out for your own form of therapy, whether that’s sitting across from a professional, journaling, or just meeting up with new friends over breakfast. You’ll be much better for it!