Sandwiched

Dad's in a nursing home in Bismarck, my daughter's in the Cities, my oldest son on the West Coast. We have a lake home. What does this mean? That at any given location at any given time, I want to be somewhere else. If I'm home, I'm missing my two oldest kids, my dad, and the lake. You get the picture.

I try not to feel guilty, but I admit it - it's difficult to feel peaceful when I'm feeling pulled. I know we're called the sandwich generation, but I don't feel like a nice piece of deli turkey nestled softly between two warm freshly-baked pieces of bread. I feel like a piece of roast beef that's been torn into little pieces then put onto 5 different plates, and I'm supposed to feed everyone.

Well then, THERE we get to it! So let's dive a little deeper, shall we? I have always said that I permanently give a piece of my heart to my children, but that's not even the end of it. I've also given my heart to my father. I call it the 6 people I love more than anything in the Universe (I told Dad he was one of my Five, and he said 'Mom.....' so I changed it to 6), but then that would mean that the absolutely only time I'll ever feel 100% happy is when all 5 of my (living) loved ones are in one place, and it just doesn't look like that's going to be happening any time soon. So then what am I supposed to do?

It appears I feel guilty. I'm a caretaker. A nurturer. I DO things for people I love. I bake double chocolate gourmet brownies and rush them off to the post office before they cool. I buy clothes, and pad Thai, and expensive scotch. I serve at school, give back rubs, write cards. Frankly I don't know how any of my Five survive without me. I worry about them, text them to make sure they're taking their vitamins, ask if they've fixed their brakes yet. I even brought Dad a pot roast to his room at the home because he was missing the smell of home-cooked food. And I love doing all of those things - it makes me happy. So what's the problem? "I'm supposed to feed everyone after I've been torn into little pieces and separated..."

Do I feel whole? Do I have worth if I'm not taking care of others? Do others expect me to take care of them, or do I put that on myself? Would I ever say no if one of my Five asked me for something I didn't think I could give? Probably not - I don't think so - maybe - probably - probably not.

Maybe the problem isn't that I feel like the deli meat in the middle of the sandwich, or even that I feel like I've torn myself into tiny little pieces. Maybe it's that I don't feel like I'm the WHOLE sandwich. My beloved family is the bread, the mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, and tomato, and I'm just the teensy slice in the middle. Great. Now I'm hungry.

So I sit here, at 12:52 on a Monday morning, enjoying the darkness, the glow of my Himalayan salt lamp, wondering if I've ever felt like a whole sandwich, afraid that I haven't, and wondering if it's too late to start making my Sandwich Soul Snack, this time making sure I keep myself whole and in the middle of my whole life. I don't think it's too late, but I'd better get going. I'm probably going to enter middle age one of these years.