Accountability

Obligation. Responsibility. These are words we toss around. But when asked requested demanded to show demonstrate prove accountability. Sometimes we fall short.

In our current situation. Our new reality. Global pandemic. Inexperienced. Unknowing. Fearful. Life altering changing mind blowing.

Some people choose to ignore our new landscape. Choose to attempt to live life normally consistently as if nothing has changed. As if nothing they do act transfer. Can hurt anyone else. Or perhaps they do not care. Or maybe they do not see their place of connectedness in the world. Their singular potential impact on the ability capacity to save, or not, another life.

This web of all lives associations reliance. Both casual and intimate.

Shaking hands. Hugs. Reaching out to touch another in comfort or relatability. All replaced instantly. Overnight. By distant waves. Face time calls. Zoom meetings. In one single evolutionary second.

I am comforted when jogging. I love seeing smelling feeling the emergence and growth of spring around me. The newness of buds and beauty. The ospreys building their nests along my route.

An older couple walks on the sidewalk towards me. I glance back and cross the grass to jump onto the shoulder of the road. Zero hesitation as I yield and give space distance to these people. Who are presumably at greater risk. They wave. I smile. The man says: thank you.

After I pass them. Giving enough time. I return to the sidewalk. A bit later I see an older gentleman. Perhaps not so much older than me but maybe 10 years. He is jogging towards me and moves to the shoulder of the road. I wave in thanks. He holds up two fingers in a sign of peace. I imagine he used this sign in a quite different context in his youth. But the same connotations. And a shared hope.

On another street, a family comes towards me on bikes. The young kids are learning the art of pedaling. Again, I move to a much more narrow shoulder of the road and am grateful traffic is extremely light. The dad looks at me, smiles and waves in thanks.

I have noticed more looks, nods, smiles. Of acknowledgement of our shared humanity. More nods of acceptance and gratitude that some things. The important essence real good stuff remains. That underneath it all. Not too far. There is caring. And hope. And a familiar hierarchical structure of the value of life and the sacrifices we willingly are prepared to make for others. Members of our community. Perhaps unknown or unfamiliar faces and names. But all members of this same global community.

There is comfort in knowing my place. It is my obligation responsibility to move out of the way of elderly and youth. I am accountable for making the world a safer place for them if it is at all within my capacity to do so.

And I hope expect anticipate. The same in others.

I received an email and a call last Friday. Someone who works in my mother’s residence had tested positive for the Coronavirus.

I should not be. Cannot be shocked. And yet. I felt insanely deliriously horribly nauseated gut punch needing to vomit sick. The impact potential manner of death waiting in the wings.

It is not that I expect her to live much longer. I no longer know what to expect. She has been under hospice care for quite some time and will remain.

But I hoped imagined wanted. Her death to be soft. While sleeping. Quite possibly with me at her side.

I have spent my entire life feeling accountable to. And then for. My mother.

Moving her into an assisted living residence was the result of so many terrible scary dangerous actions on her part. That endangered the lives of our children.

I tried reasoning with her. Pleading for her to understand the consequences.

The thing about fronto-temporal dementia. Perhaps all dementia. Is that there is no logic. No empathy or sympathy or concern about others. Not anymore. And yet. This person still looks the same. How can they not somewhere inside of them feel know understand. But no.

J.P. and I moved heaven and earth to set up mom’s apartment so beautifully. We bought and provided everything she could ever want need so she felt loved.

Sixteen days later. We did it again. On a much smaller scale. Needing to move her behind locked doors. Our escape artist. Our person who continued to find innovative ways to make her life being world unsafe. Needed constant supervision.

She stayed depressed and kept to her room for a long time. But we would visit often and bring anything everything to her that she could possibly need or want. For both her and for us. For me. As I am accountable for her well being and peace of mind.

And as the disease progressed. As she shifted to a walker and wheelchair. As her constant daily falls forced a change to her daily pattern so that her room was locked and she remained with the group during the day to ensure her safety.

As she became more calm. Less aware.

Chocolate milkshakes still. And consistent visits. To feed her. Help bathe her. Dress her. Clip her finger nails. Check in and tell her I love her. Make a connection.

But now. I have not lost my feeling of accountability. I know that I must stay away. Not endanger her or anyone else. The potential for spreading carrying the virus to her.

She is at the end of her life. We do not know what or when or how her end will come. But it will be relatively soon. To be unable incapable of seeing her. Bringing her a milkshake. Looking into her eyes and smiling reassuringly. Telling her stories of the girls. Showing her pictures. Unsure unclear what she understands. But touching her. Reaching out to comfort.

And now nothing. And no clear end in sight. To know that she is at the end of her life. And I am denied the opportunity to spend any of it with her. Is heartbreaking.

(I avoid any and all similar stories tragedies shared across different media forums. People dying without loved ones by their side.  I cannot fathom and continue to get out of bed. So I set the pain anguish aside. In an unmarked box tucked behind others of similar weight and density. At the back of the attic. And move forward)

My moral obligation. Social responsibility. Sense of accountability ingrained in me as a child. Knowing that isolation is key. Feeling a loss. Tremendous loss of my mother. Knowing she does not understand. May not even be cognizant of the situation. Hoping that time is standing still. Is a blessing.

And my personal mantra goals aspirations of writing. Pushed back to the edges. For now. Fitting it in when possible. Replaced by my role necessity duty to be a mom. To maintain some semblance of normalcy in a house with several critters.

(We have also had successive foster dogs. Each of whom required their own form of support. And increased social distancing at vets and with potential adopters. Sending them out of the house unleashed so they may meet. Finding new ways to connect, from a distance, rescues with forever families)

The constancy of bodies. In the house and underfoot. Of mud from spring weather. Of allergens in the air. The need to clean on the daily.

Not getting ahead. Just maintaining.

(Those thoughts ideas plans I had to take on extra projects whilst in quarantine now mock taunt haunt me. I tell them to fuck off)

And supporting. Both girls are engaged in online classes. But reach out between to talk chat discuss ruminate on a variety of topics. Or just in need of a sandwich. J.P. is on constant calls meetings to help assist formulate plans to manage handle deal predict how to have the most positive outcomes. For everyone.

And my writing. One of the things which I do for myself. Which provides some measure of personal accountability. Just like the gym. It has had to take a backseat. But I will return to them when time and circumstances permit.

Because no one.  No young adult or fur baby. Has any concept of my need for uninterrupted time. My desire to spend time alone in my head. Attempting to figure out a way to transcribe share relate connect with others. In writing.

Instead I am forced constantly to drop everything to physically emotionally connect.

Which is why I still must get outside to run walk jog. Feel my breath. Heart beating rapidly.

I read an article about how to be a more efficient runner. I thought about it and used the points while jogging the other day. I took 30 seconds off my current mile time. After two miles I had to stop. Because I was so out of breath.

I had become used to a certain pattern way of doing things. And I want to be more efficient. But I need to build up my stamina clearly. Relearn. Teach my heartbeat and breath to match the rhythm of my stride rather than the other way around.

I need to become more efficient. Better at doing what I can and love to do.

Like this period of time. In quarantine. I am learning how to match my breath to my actions and the needs of my family. And my community. Global.

I must match my breath and heartbeat to a new pattern of being. Efficiency in the hope of saving lives.

My accountability is to match my actions to the immense enormous intense needs. My obligation and responsibility.

And yours also. I hope. Peace.

(Picture of mom sent by staff. Edited to fit this format but she is holding a sign which reads: Miss you guys. Send margaritas!)