It's just a little stressful

Word has come down there is a room available for mother at an assisted living center. The angst has begun again. Is this the right time? Can I actually do this? How hard will this be on Mom? What if it's the wrong decision?

My sisters all feel it is time. In my heart I know . . . no, I do not know. I am filled with doubt.

King, who can (and regularly does) escape to the farm during the day, thinks we can continue to care for Mom indefinitely. Our daughter and I think his feelings may be some residual guilt over the home his mother lived in the last few years of her life. It was, by all standards, fairly dismal.

For whatever the reason, King has his doubts. When we found out a space was available, King and I fought about it all day. Granted, he said it was not his decision and what we did was ultimately up to my sisters and I, but given all the self-doubt and angst I  was feeling, I thought he could have been a little more supportive. And told him so. Over and over and over again.

On the off chance Mom could understand what we were arguing about, we resorted to texting. Just because we've been married for more than 35 years does not mean our maturity level has progressed and we fought like teens.

In the end King ended up apologizing to me -- via text, and I, being the mature, responsible adult I am, texted back: It's too late. I have a horrendous headache and am having chest pains.

It could have been indigestion. It could have been anxiety. It could have been an over-active imagination. It could have been misguided hope. But I pulled the "I think I am dying and it's your fault," trump card.  I know, I know. A really stupid, self-indulgent, immature move on my part. Since I'm not generally given to dramatics, I can't say I've ever used it before, but I was tired of it all and wanted everything to just go away. Besides maturity had fallen by the wayside long before this.

I was laying on our bed, pretending to be asleep. I may have even dozed off for a moment. I opened my eyes and King's face was a couple of inches from mine.

"Yes. I'm still breathing."

"Okay, good. What's for dinner?"

And so life goes on.