2020 was undoubtedly a hard year on most everyone in this world. Last year, however, meant a lot more hardships to me than just having to stay quarantined at home or having to homeschool my kids. To me, 2020 was the most emotionally tolling and mentally draining year in my life to date.

It was the year that my dear Mother had to have a battery replaced in her deep brain stimulator. That may not sound like much but she was on a cancer blocking infusion drug that inhibited tissue healing with any surgical procedures, so the battery replacement meant she couldn’t get her infusions for two months. That set the ball rolling in January for what was to come throughout the rest of the year.

In March, I had to make the tough decision to quit a job I loved and was so proud to have so that I could take care of my parents’ increasing needs. I felt blessed to be able to do this but also sadness that I had to make that decision. I had worked so hard to get to where I was. I had a great team of nurses that I worked with and had just recently gotten a promotion. I wasn’t necessarily ready to leave but knew that the time had come when I was needed elsewhere more.

Come July, Mom had an open wound that developed on her head, just over one of her hardware wires for her deep brain stimulator and thus, had to have that removed. Having one side of the stimulator removed, creates difficulty in regulating her Parkinson’s symptoms, as she had one side of her brain on a stimulator, one side not, and all of her body working on the oral medications. I’d seen her live with a one-sided stimulator before and knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

By late Summer, she had daily complaints of gastrointestinal issues (“tummy troubles”, if you will) that raised our concerns of her cancer’s return. In September, we got the official word that it was back and she had to get restarted on her chemo.

In October, she grew extremely weak and pale and required a blood transfusion. This was caused from the chemotherapy. When I was waiting with her in the hospital, she told me she was tired and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt like a normal person. Looking back at this conversation, I know that she was telling me she was ready and that I should prepare too.

The weekend after Thanksgiving, she was so weak she couldn’t walk from one side of my living room to the other. I took her back to the hospital and she required another blood transfusion. She also tested positive for COVID-19 and 4 days later, I had to make the decision to bring her home to pass.

In December, what used to be my favorite month, celebrating my favorite holiday of the year, Mom died at home, while I held her hand and watched her breathe her last breath. My Dad, siblings and niece were all at her side as well and there was so much beauty and peace in the way she was able to go Home but afterwards, the profound loss that I’ve felt by not having her in this world is nearly unbearable some days. The world doesn’t feel the same without her in it.

I remember sometimes I would look deep into Mom’s eyes and we would just kind of look at each other for a bit. I would get right close to her face (she couldn’t hear and her voice was so weak and shaky that you couldn’t hear her so I was close to her face a lot) and we would just kind of grin at each other. I remember in those times of looking close, how tired she looked. Tired of fighting this tragic fight she had battled for so long and tired of not being able to live the life she wanted. Selfishly, I’m so thankful she held on for as long as she did. I cherish that we spent a lot of time together this last year.

At the same time I had to watch my Momma physically decline slowly but steadily, I’ve had to watch my Dad’s confusion increase rapidly. We got the official Dementia diagnosis the week after Mom passed away. I didn’t really have time to grieve or process Mom’s loss before having to move, right away, into caring for his every need.

I’m not sure that words alone can quite describe the hopelessness and helplessness and despair, that watching your parents in their last years of life can leave you feeling. My situation seems to have a bit of uniqueness in that I’m not only caring for my aging parents, I’m also still trying to care for my young children, ages 9, 7, and 4. Paying the bills, organizing the doctor’s appointments and attending those appointments, grocery shopping, cleaning the house. All these things to do for the parents when you’re falling behind in duties at your own home. Everyone warns you about how hard it is to have children. Nobody warns you how hard it is to care for aging parents.

And among all the anguish and deep grief 2020 left me feeling, I’ve realized recently that I have lost myself. I lost my passion for life. I lost my positive attitude. I lost my quirky personality and lighthearted nature. I lost my desire to be around people. I lost my motivation and drive.

I’ll find myself again soon, I hope. I have a great life and a wonderful husband and awesome kids that overflow my bucket with joy. I’ve got friends that are so incredibly special to me. I will find myself again. I’m not sure when but I hope that one day, I wake up and am able to find simple joy again from the sun shining in the window or the peace in the quiet of the morning.

Until then, I’m going to work through the raw emotions as best I can. Writing is my therapy so I’m going to channel my thoughts through that. Exercise makes my head clear so I’m going to exercise when I can. Spending time with my kids who can look at me and love me with the purest heart heals the pain a bit, so I’m going to make myself take the time to enjoy the small moments.

“I believe the hardest part of healing after you’ve lost someone you love, is to recover the ‘you’ that went away with them.” – Anonymous