I can’t believe that this book is finally (almost) published. It has been over twenty years of writing, revising, collecting/tossing out and critiquing—and living life, as well. I was writing poetry about care-giving when my own parents were in their last few years. My older sister had the lion’s share of the work because she was six blocks away from Mom and Dad. Before that, my brother, Steve was the main caregiver. He had to deal with the ambulance trips in the night and the daily decisions of living with folks whose health is declining. At a certain point, we decided to help Mom and Dad move to the cities, so more of us kids could help care for them.
Thursdays were my days to spend with them. Even though it was my ‘day off’ from teaching, I still had my children’s school events, housework, grocery shopping, or my own lesson planning to do. I could choose among several things to do on the days I didn’t teach, but I gave them to Mom and Dad. I would do the laundry, go grocery shopping for Mom or help in other ways around their small apartment. And visit, of course. They always wanted to hear all the latest news.
Later, after they both had passed away, I was able to take a sabbatical year in order to attend graduate school. Our oldest daughter needed child care, and I was surely up for that. I cared for Isabel during the day and went to school evenings. It was a blessing for me as well as my husband to be able to spend time with our first grandchild. I was able to spend a day or two caring for each of our first three grand daughters. Caring for children while attending school and teaching made the days, weeks, months very full.
Years later, when our third daughter announced her pregnancy, I wanted to again help by giving her child care. Then our second daughter said she also was expecting, so we ended up watching two grandsons who are 21 days apart (or maybe 19 days apart). Anyway, it was like having twins. I changed my work schedule to teach four evenings and two full days, in order to have the boys four days each week.
After a couple years of working six days a week, I was tired, so I retired from my teaching job. By that time, the boys were three and it looked like I would have some ‘free time’ as they went to preschool. But, then another child came along (such a euphemistic term, isn’t it? “came along”) Our most recent grand child joined us and has been with us for five years.
While Imogen was an infant, my mother-in-law came to live with us, as well. She brought along her little dog, so the house seemed like a circus with a crawling infant, a barking dog, two running preschoolers, and a fragile grandma. Add to that, frequent visits from family, incontinence, eating issues, necessary naps with attempted quiet times, along with meal preparation, dog walking while trying to keep the house clean and laundry done.
Writing A Short Supply of Viability was a way for me to stay sane, that is when I got a minute to contemplate. Writing poetry was my way to sort through the various emotions that flooded my mind. I was grateful for the ability and opportunity to care for my grand babies and Mother In law, but I was challenged by the frustrations of caring for them. Young children and old ladies are needy.
Unknowable
The mist meanders around the bend
of the day, leaving a trail no one can follow
so much is uncertain
such a mystery
Where does the doe hide
her fawn?
When do the disappearing stars
sigh their song?
Something unseen controls
the universe inside and out.
Our concepts of mastery
only a mirage of mirror and light.
The doe grazes in the quiet field,
across from the stream,
allowing access to the unseen,
not minding being led.
~ Annette Gagliardi
Mirriam-Webster defines the term Compassion Fatigue as “the physical and mental exhaustion and emotional withdrawal experienced by those who take care of sick or traumatized people over an extended period of time.” A Short Supply of Viability offers readers a glimpse into compassion fatigue and its manifestations.
Viability is being capable of working successfully; it means having the capacity or ability to continue. Perhaps it is the true meaning of being alive. There are times in a person’s life when viability seems pretty hard to find, when our circumstances are too difficult to continue in the way we have been going.
Yet, viability is still present, its shadow casting sidelong glances at us from darkened corners, challenging us to move on with life, taunting us to be happy, if even for just this moment. Can we look at the facts of a loved one dying and still go on with our lives? We have and we must go on until the very last breath—and beyond.
In the middle of caring for our grandchildren and Mom, I learned I had a bit of cancer – a small thing really: treatable with a few office visits and a short surgery, yet one more stress to deal with in the burgeoning mileu of stress. The poem Fresh News speaks to that moment I was diagnosed. Many caregivers neglect to care for themselves and end up dying shortly after their loved ones. Our family has tried (and continues) to care for the caregivers as well as those needing the care.
Sometimes the person who is physically declining is in better condition than the care-givers who live with the stress of grief and myriad other incidentals that attach themselves as they go about the days and nights ‘taking care of’. They lose the joy of the moment, the measure of the seasons in the frenzy of taking care. I ask you: Who’s to say it isn’t intended that way?
As our loved ones approach the next phase of being, we ponder the meaning of life, and death, and what might follow. There is pain in growth and pain in death. It is a fact of life. But that doesn’t mean the pain isn’t worth it. Go on. Share the pain. Read a poem and weep if you feel the need. Weeping cleanses your “gutters to a slim, polished newness”.
This book provides viewpoints to ponder, glimpses of lives well-lived and not well-lived, but still works in progress. It gives the caregiver’s perspective as well as the perspective of those being cared for—both, in various stages of viability.
Many friends, neighbors and acquaintances have told me that when they retired, they thought they would have time to follow the dreams they had put off while they held a job and raised their family. But now, in retirement they are asked to put off even longer or disregard altogether those dreams and aspirations that were on our ‘bucket list’. They grieve the loss of their dreams and the loss of their loved-one’s quality of life. Yet they feel a sense of obligation to give the care needed and deserved. These poems reflect that same grief, loss, and obligation. I hope you are left with the knowledge that you aren’t the only one walking this path and some small measure of encouragement and comfort.
So, the book is ready for pre-sales. It won’t come out until July 15th, which is two and a half months away, but the promotion begins now. You can order the book now, and get it in July. Or, you can wait for July and order it from the publisher, from Amazon, from Barnes & Noble. I will also have a few copies to sell. I’ll be doing readings around the metro area, and possibly outstate as well. If you’d like me to come read in your town, let me know.
Taking Pre-Orders for A Short Supply of Viability
A Short Supply of Viability
by Annette Gagliardi
Scheduled Release Date: July 15, 2022
For complete details, reviews and ordering information click here.
Merriam-Webster dictionary defines “compassion fatigue” as the physical and mental exhaustion and emotional withdrawal experienced by those who care for sick or traumatized people over an extended period of time. Annette Gagliardi’s poetry offers compassion for the compassionate. Her poems are informed by the shift of comfort that occurs with caregivers, from the decision to provide care, to the fatigue and grace of caring for others, then to the grief and relief of saying goodbye. A Short Supply of Viability provides insight, thoughtful consideration of issues, glimpses of those being cared for, and relief from grief. It is a must read and a welcoming balm for anyone faced with becoming a caregiver, whether it be in a professional capacity or taking care of a loved one whose health is declining.
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