winkgirl4's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And we all fall down...
Andy digs my cool car. Didn't he do a great job of drawing it for me? Now, if I'll just go and clean the damned thing.
It's Saturday night and I was supposed to go out and have a wild nigh but, instead, I'm here- at home- typing journal entries and listening to soft rock music. Wait, hold on. Don't call the suicide hotline just yet. It's not that bad. I promise.
Tonight, instead of watching my children- who are in Ada with their father this weekend- I am babysitting Shannon.
This is Shannon.
He was supposed to work at the local club again tonight but things sometimes don't go as planned. For instance, this afternoon, when an aquaintance called to ask if he could come by and get the jacket that he left here last night, I'm sure that- while walking into my room- Shannon planned to give me that information. In fact, from the way he was calling for my attention from the living room, I'm sure that there was, perhaps, more information that he was intending to pass along but, because he fell face-first onto the floor and started to have a seizure, I'll never know what that additional information was. Whether it's fortunate or not, the seizures cause short term memory loss and he can lose any where from an hour to a week's worth of memory after experiencing one. On the plus side, he doesn't usually remember the seizure either. And if it weren't for the injuries he usually sustains during his falls or from biting down on his tongue, he'd never have to know that he had one in the first place.
Anyway, here's the thing that warrants this becoming a journal entry when so many of the other seizures haven't: See, it wasn't so much the seizure as it was my reaction to it that has plagued me all night. I have had- as I have had in the past- this irrational feeling of guilt since it happened. I remember that while he was in the throws (as it were) of his body seizing and straining, I heard myself repeating, "You took your medicine. I know you took your medicine. You've taken your medicine. I saw you take your medicine." And, of course, I know that he had, as I hand him his medicine and a bottle of water twice a day to ensure that he DOES take his medicine- in much the same way that I march Justin into the bathroom in the morning to brush his hair and teeth.
I know that I can't blame myself for his falling- especially since I hurt myself trying to catch him while he was coming down. And, despite his size, he's still far too heavy for me to catch. I know that there was nothing that I could do to stop his dessent. And I know that I coudln't have made it any more comfortable for him (so to speak). As it was, I was able to get his head in my lap to keep him from continuing to hit his head on the floor. And when it was over, I made sure that I didn't leave him alone while he was in the stage when he becomes a bit dillusional and feels lost. I made sure that he knew where he was and that he took another pill to, hopefully, keep him from having another one.
So why do I feel guilty? I know that the feeling is irrational. I've back-tracked all my steps and I know that I did absolutely everything that I was supposed to do- when I was supposed to do it but still, the feeling is SO real. I know it wasn't my fault. I know it wasn't so what's up? I tried pick it apart. I thought, maybe it was just me feeling sorry and not knowing how to express that but it's something else, completely.
See, I can't say anything to him about it because after it happens and he's finally lucid enough to understand what just happened, it's really just the saddest, most pathetic thing. The look on his face is that of a child who had to face their parent after they've done something truly horrible. It's this looked that's mixed with fear and shame and embarrassment. You can't tell him what you are feeling. You can't lay that on him. His shoulders are full. So, everytime I look at him and the phrase, "I should have..." comes to my lips, I make sure that they don't pass them. But, in the silence, while he's resting- when his limbs are so heavy he can barely lift them and his body is wracked with exhaustion, I try to finish the sentance. "I should have.... WHAT?" What should I have done? I did what I should have done. I know I did. And, yet, everytime I look at him, that empty phrase surfaces.
It could just be one of those intrinsic human responses that we have that we just don't understand. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm feeling what absolutely anyone else would have felt in that situation. But I don't know. Maybe it's that someone I love is hurt and I feel guilty that there's nothing I can do to stop it. Maybe that's it. Again, I don't know. I just know that I've done everything I could and it still doesn't feel like it's enough.
Anyway. Hope that your weekend went well.
8:10 p.m. - January 15, 2005
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------