The house has been silent for nearly 2 days now as my 9 year old son, Declan, is away spending time with his Godmother at her homeplace in Longford. I haven’t handled it well. Last night, I found myself sobbing in a heaping mess curled up on the sofa after I spoke to him on the phone. He was having great fun, you see, and in my isolation stuck in the middle of nowhere with Brendan Bjorn, it was like a knife through my heart. He was having great fun, and once again, I wasn’t able to be the one having it with him. I don’t think most people can understand how I feel, so this is what I’m going to try and explain in this blog post.

I want to be the one who is free.

I want to be the one who is free to take Declan to local hurling matches no matter the weather or the rocky path to the pitch.

I want to be the one who is free to go for a walk every day with him come rain or shine.

I want to be the one who is free to run through the shopping centre carpark as we try to catch the film on time.

I want to be the one who is free to introduce him to hiking, a past regular activity of mine that I’ve not been able to do in nearly 13 years now.

But I’m not.
I’m not free.

I am a lone parent carer who is as restricted in her actions as is the precious son for whom I care 24 hours a day.

I am a lone parent carer who is never invited over for dinner, for a cuppa, to a show or to anything, frankly.

I am a lone parent carer who lives in isolation in a run down rental in need of repair in the middle of a bogland where no one would even notice if I didn’t set foot outside for a month. (Yes, that has happened, before you ask)

I’ve written a number of times about the mental health struggles of being a carer. When you add having no spouse/partner, that struggle is multiplied on many levels. When you add having no family, it is again multiplied. And when you add having no peers, no friends, who are nearby to socialise with, to support you, to comfort you, to help you, that struggle reaches an unsustainable level.

Yet, despite having voiced all this before, silence remains.

Even yesterday, when I replied to a tweet by a well-known counselor/therapist about the depression and isolation that comes with being a lone parent carer, the reply I received was “I’m really sorry to read that, Tracy. Life is very unfair. I’m at a loss for words.” I myself am a trained counselor/therapist, so I understand mental health quite well. This is how I know just how dark of a place I am in at the moment. And it is also how I know to tell someone that “life is very unfair” is nothing short of a cop out, especially from a trained mental health professional.

This person missed an opportunity to reach out.
But alas, no one really does anymore, do they?

Please, don’t tell me life is unfair.
I see the absolutely cruel unfairness of life every single day when I look at my precious son Brendan Bjorn as his body seizes, as he loses weight, as the scoliosis continues crushing down on his insides, as he becomes bedridden with pressure sores.
I see it and I live it. Alone.

What is unfair is that my 9 year old son has only a fraction of the mother he should have because she is left alone to try and be a full time nurse 24/7 to her other son.

What is unfair is that people feign to care but aren’t willing to help carry the weight.

What is unfair is that my severely disabled son, whose years on this earth are limited, doesn’t get out to see the world nearly as much as he should because his mother is exhausted, depressed, and some days simply too worn down to even get him out of bed.

What is unfair is that I can’t afford to buy a proper WAV (wheelchair accessible vehicle) with an automatic transmission so I’m not in pain every time I drive.

What is unfair is that I can’t afford to buy a secure, life-time home for my two beautiful sons to spend their remaining years together, while they have them, so to create memories which will last Declan a lifetime when that is all he has remaining. Instead, he worries about homelessness.

What is unfair is having a letting agent scold me yesterday for being “impatient” when I followed up on a rental application, seeing  me again in tears. A day in my shoes might fix that uncalled for attitude.

What isn’t fair is having to worry about homelessness, surgery waiting lists, having enough money to buy groceries and pay bills, when all I should be worrying about is making sure the remaining years I have with Brendan Bjorn are filled with as much love and quality of life as it possibly can be.

Please, don’t tell me life is unfair unless you walk in these exact same pair of shoes, because that isn’t fair.