The Capacity for Hate

 

 

Fourteen years ago, we all lived together in a little cream- colored house, with a monkey swing hanging from the maple tree in the backyard.  Fourteen years ago, I was 35-years-old and my husband was 39. We had a 5-year-old daughter, and two sons, ages 9 and 11. Fourteen years ago, we had worries; I just don’t remember what they were, or why they mattered.

One summer day, fourteen years ago, my husband came home from work early, sat down in our cheery little breakfast nook,  and calmly stated, “The doctor says it’s Parkinson’s Disease.”  Fourteen years ago, I knew one person with PD – an aged man with a tremor. Fourteen years ago, my Pollyanna-self told my husband no matter what the future brings, we will handle it together.

Fourteen years ago, I didn’t know much.

Today, the “children” are finding their way as young adults, at the university and in new careers. Today we live in the same town, but a different  house, smaller yard, no monkey swing. Today, my husband no longer works at his career as a designer. Today, I am aware of numerous people with PD.  Today, I am aware of PD. It permeates.

And today, I hate it.

I hate this disease that follows us everywhere we go and becomes the center of attention at every party. It killed our once-aligned dreams for the future.  Now goals and dreams have shifted to become much less “ours,” more a survival strategy for me, and a reason to keep moving. And movement is a terrifying variable in our house now.  He often feels like a shaky turtle trying to cross a highway, cars speeding by in both directions threatening to run him over. He sees my activity, my movement, my success as highlighting his decline.  I hate it. Now, no longer hiding in blissful ignorance of the non-motor symptoms associated with Parkinson’s, I painfully witness the cognitive decline and confusion, the primitive coping strategies, the depression and anxiety. I hate it. At times the level of medication required to keep him functioning sends his brain into overload, causing schizophrenic–like symptoms and bizarre behaviors: talking to people who don’t exist; seeing our son walk through the dining room when in fact he is in Ann Arbor; screaming night hallucinations.  I am loneliest at night when he is talking or shouting at the goblins in his dreams, startling me from sleep. I hate it. As the person closest to him, I often become the target for his anger and frustrations; at times he throws the children under the bus. He can’t fight the disease, so he fights us. I hate it. Then, I hate that I hate.

This capacity for hate was not in me fourteen years ago, or if it was, I was not aware.  A dark side has developed within me, and I am often uncomfortable with the resentment, anger, revulsion, selfishness, or shame that surfaces.  But I allow it to surface now, and try to notice the emotion without judgment. It passes more quickly this way.

Periodically, a wave of fear rolls over me, fear of losing my “self” in this care-giving mess. If I have the presence of mind to accept–not fight–my own humanity, the fear and the capacity for hate diminishes and an increased capacity for compassion emerges, reminding me that complementarity exists. This compassion brings meaning to life and then the s**t in life we cannot control has less power.

Once again, I can see the stars in the sky.

I laugh daily. No other woman in the neighborhood is fortunate enough to come home from work and find her husband in the garage, his pockets stuffed with breakfast sausages. I have to laugh. (Since then, “pocket sausage” has become a catch-phrase in our family. But that’s another story.)

Sometimes, I see glimpses of the man I married; determined, artistic, funny, eccentric, intelligent, and loving glimpses. Sometimes, there are oceans of space between glimpses. He is the one with the diagnosis; we both live with the disease.  I am able to take a vacation from Parkinson’s; he can never leave it behind.

Sometimes I hate things.

 

 

Reviews

[Lauren Marie]

I liked this a lot because the flow was especially good, and though the subject wasn't a happy one, there is definitely that feeling that we will go on, and that we will make it through. You did an excellent job portraying your emotions.
Good job!
~Lauren

[RNMURRAY]

I sense a lot of hope in your tone....very thought provoking...and you speak much truth. I finding myself thinking the same things sometimes.

[CircusNerd]

this was emotionally invoking, but i enjoyed reading something so insightful and honest. it's astonishing the changes that occur within a certain duration of time but as we progress in life we can only bring out our own selves, and nothing but the inevitable truth of what we are. great job

[fallen_sueanne]

This was really sad but also like there's a feeling of hope hidden behind the darkest shadows of the mind. (If that makes any sense) By the way, this was really good and I like it.