I’ve always felt like the protector of my dad and my younger brother. Maybe being the only girl growing up with two guys brought out the motherly instinct in me. Or maybe it comes from an innate desire to reciprocate the security my dad offered me. Whether instinct or reciprocation, my self-imposed duty to guard my family against harm was always appreciated with a heavy coating of ridicule.
My family has a tendency to leave doors unlocked and garages open. I, on the other hand, am slightly obsessive compulsive when it comes to keeping things secure. My dad and brother have mocked my lockup tendencies hundreds of times, insisting that I not worry so much.
Unlike the majority of the population, my brother and dad have never been known to surrender their free time at the sound of a repeating cell phone ring even though they knew that if I couldn’t reach them after three attempts or so, I’d come looking for them. And when I did, the mockery ensued, usually ending with, “Casie, we love you. But you have to relax.”
How can one relax without knowing the people they love most are okay at all times? It’s just always been inherent for me to worry and to feel responsible for their safety and wellbeing.
When my dad was diagnosed with cancer last March, I felt as though I had failed. As if my efforts during all these years were futile. So, I kicked it in high gear and did everything I could think of to help him fight. Researched, talked with doctors, checked in with him day and night, made him laugh, thought positively, brought him healthy foods and vitamins. And when things got real bad… slept in the hospital, learned how to become a “nurse daughter,” and fought the need to talk about death because he asked me not to bring it up.
But it wasn’t enough. I now have a huge emptiness in my life because I couldn’t protect him. And I honestly feel responsible. I keep thinking about what more I could have done. I retrace steps and question decisions. I feel like my heart has been hollowed out and replaced with guilt and resentment. And I can’t even guard myself against the hurt.
Some protector girl I am.
Casie – your words are amazing, I am so sorry about your dad. I can say I know how you feel but that won’t make it any better. Cancer sucks… a lot. Hope you’re doing okay.
Thanks, Ashley :)
Casie, my mom died of cancer over six years ago. For the 8 months she was sick, I was her primary caregiver. Halfway through her illness, I was laid off from my job.
I was with her 24/7 at that point. I got another job. On my FIRST day at the new job, my mom became ill, couldn’t breathe and had to call 911. I was devasted she was alone when this happned. She died 5 days later after a series of setbacks. I still stuggle with this to this day. I know how it feels to think that you failed at caring for your parent.
I don’t have many words of wisdom. Your deep grief is so new. I’ve been working with a therapist and trying to make my heart and head realize that my mom wouldn’t want me to feel guilty. That would make her very sad. I imgaine your dad feels the same way.
I know it’s harder than the hardest thing. Take care of yourself. ((HUG))
-Sara
Oh, Sara! You didn’t fail. Our lives force us to do things that take time away from the things we should really be focused on. Imagine if we all worked less and spent more time doing what we love and being with the people we love. I guess that’s why it’s important to find something you love and surround yourself with people who mean the most to you.
We can only do what is in our power to do at the time we have to do it. But it doesn’t ease the pain.
I feel for you.
Found you randomly through Twitter. You seem like such a bright spark, and have had such a wonderful outlook on life! I have had a less than stellar relationship with my dad, and reading your comments tonight inspires me to do better while he is still with me. Keep your chin up and keep smiling!