The last thing I wanted was to have the flow of posts interrupted where it was, amid observations about how control freaks make the best caregivers. That could sound like An empty or ungrateful criticism of some of the people who have been there for me most. That’s the furthest thing from my intent, partially because my core statement is true: control freaks make the best caregivers. Those without the ability to plow forward can’t do as much and are often not as effective.
When the blood hemorrhage happened, my friend Pat dove into the deep end of my care. For any minor complaint I could raise, I don’t know how I could have gotten through that time without Pat. The cycle of needs almost cost us the friendship. Pat took over more and more, too much for my liking both as someone trying to learn where and when I had to let go, and more as someone traditionally viewed as uncontrollable. Pat put so much time and effort and energy into my care that Pat’s marriage strained. We both needed a reset of the boundaries for our individual well being. That process was the right thing that never felt right to either of us. Pat had said at one point, I had such a look of hatred in my face; that moment had demonstrated the need to back off to Pat. I had unintentionally inflicted a hurt without being aware of it. I barely remember the incident as anything beyond one of my helpless, self-pitying moods.
It’s been three years. I am more adjusted to my situation and all its stark realities. Pat’s marriage has stabilized. We’ve maintained a friendship with roots back into the mid 1980’s. I am grateful for all that.
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