Accomplishing Little…

A few days ago I wrote that I had forty eight hours on my own laying ahead of me and I had hopes to accomplish something of merit.

I shouldn’t do this to myself. I continue to set lofty goals, and am then disappointed in myself when I accomplish little to none of what I set out to do. It’s not laziness, lack of willpower or distraction.

It’s trying to do something, and not being able to follow through due to exhaustion, pain, and plain and simple physical inability. Limbs don’t bend and move anymore the way I would like them to, and staring at something heavy won’t lift it off the floor. It stays there until someone comes along to move it for me.

I concern myself too often with trying to accomplish what I believe others expect of me. I’m embarrassed that I can’t be productive, useful and helpful in so many of the ways I used to be.

What do others expect of me? Now there’s a question.

Lately I’ve been reading several blogs, books and listening to audiobooks written by others who face/had been facing death. Most recently the audiobook “Mortality” by Christopher Hitchens.

It’s reassuring to find that I’m not the only one who feels like they are letting others down when serious illness strikes. That willing oneself to accomplish more just isn’t enough. Limitations are what they are, wanting things to be otherwise is of no use and only leads to feelings of failure.

The one thing I did accomplish this weekend was a load of laundry, a load of fine washables that had been piling up in the hamper. Maybe that doesn’t sound like a difficult task to most of you; to me it’s quite an undertaking.

It was after midnight last night when my daughter emailed me to ask if she could come home from university for the afternoon, that she needed to see me. She’s in the middle of studying for final exams, we have just two weeks to go before she comes home for an extended stay. My answer of course was yes, nothing could make me happier.

When she arrived late this morning, she immediately noticed that I was wearing a blouse that she had given me at Christmas time. One that I had washed yesterday before I knew she was coming home today. A broader grin on her face wouldn’t have been possible, and she snuggled up beside me for a hug. It’s a very soft blouse and I like to believe that it gets me extra long cuddles.

I had needed that moment. An ever so small sense of accomplishment, that the effort to do a load of laundry yesterday meant something to my daughter. She wouldn’t have expected it, and likely would have insisted that the laundry wait until she was here this afternoon if she had known of my plans. It was my luck that the one load of laundry I felt up to tackling included the sweater she’d given me. It felt good that on a rare instance, I could exceed expectation. The feeling of letting others down is simply exhausting and I needed a short break from that.