I keep promising myself that I'm going to write. And then I'm too tired, too depressed, feel like I don't have anything to say, too lazy - you name it, I've found the excuse.



"The Sandwich Generation"

"Caring for your elderly parent"

"Longterm care - a caregiver's guide"



Those are just some of the seminars that I never attended. I knew that I was a sandwich generation person, but I just kept hoping it would go away somehow. Mind you, I didn't (and don't) want anyone to die, but as an only child, I really didn't want to have to face this.



And as seems to be the case with much of life, that which we dread the most and avoid the most becomes our life. Or my life.



The past two years have been pretty much all about my mom. And my daughter. Little has had to do with my ex-husband, who I left right before my mother fell which was the beginning of "all of this." In fact, after receiving another nasty e-mail from him the other night, I found myself in tears. And I shook for two hours after reading it. Logic defied my emotions. I told myself, "he's always been like this, so why should he act any differently now?" The question fell on perhaps not deaf ears, but almost like a fog, it took awhile for the message to get through. Ultimately, I found myself feeling very sad, and concluded that so much has taken place since our separation that I've never taken the time or had a chance to feel sad. By the time I left, there really wasn't much to feel sad about. I'd been verbally bullied for years, and I guess that must've been okay with me because after all, did stay.