A Life in Limbo

Two years ago, I was living a big life with my husband: a dream home in California, six acres with sweeping valley views, horses grazing just outside my window, and ambitious plans for my riding, my writing, and whatever else I could dream up.

Fast forward to present day in New Hampshire where my husband and I moved in with his elderly parents to care for his Mom with Alzheimer’s, and my life has become…….. small. Groundhog Day small. Every morning begins the same: trudge down from the third-floor finished attic, make coffee, say good morning to my in-laws, and then march through the day’s checklist. Visit Cosmo at the barn; stop at the grocery store; watch my husband prepare dinner; sit at the table and answer my mother-in-law’s same questions over and over; listen to my father-in-law orchestrate an irritating symphony of fork-on-plate clatters; retreat upstairs; Netflix; bed.

Wake up. Repeat.

The irony is that repetition and sameness — the very things I find suffocating — are exactly what my mother-in-law with Alzheimer’s needs most. Routine is her anchor. Any interruption, whether it’s a repairman knocking at the door or our car coming and going on the driveway, can unravel her. For her, strangers in the driveway aren’t just inconvenient, they’re kryptonite. So, out of our love for her, we’ve reshaped our lives around that fragile balance. And we have reshaped our lives around someone else’s home.  Most of our belongings are boxed up in the basement, with handy QR codes so we can locate the critical items we need, but still….it’s not our house.

So how do you create an actual life when you’re living in this kind of situation? In theory, it’s a short-term limbo — my in-laws are near end of life and we feel fortunate to have this time together; but the implied timeline creates dilemmas.  When we consider buying our own place and moving out – we aren’t sure this area is where we want to start our next chapter. And even if we could escape to an apartment or a different physical location, it doesn’t change the daily responsibilities and challenges.  It’s limbo because nothing truly significant can be changed until our family responsibilities can change.

It’s been a year of living this strange new life – of grieving our old one and navigating the quirks of our current situation that were impossible to imagine before we did it.  Buuuut, I say cautiously, it is beginning to feel like we are starting to find a rhythm, one where we can actually create some new experiences for ourselves even in the midst of caregiving limbo. Here’s how:

1. We nested

Our third floor has become our sanctuary, definitely not because it’s a Pinterest worthy retreat, but because we have done just enough to feel comfortable. We abandoned plans for new paint and carpet — something like that would be one of those kryptonite boulders aimed squarely at my mother-in-law’s peace of mind. Instead, I’m slowly becoming friends with the nemesis in our space – the original, 1990’s royal blue designer rug. It’s amazing what can be fixed with the right shade of plaid blue throw blankets, neutral furniture, artwork and some of our most treasured belongings brought out of basement jail.  It’s begun to feel cozy and relaxing – it really is true that environment and mental health are connected.

2. We learned that getaways save lives

Sometimes that means I check into a hotel for a couple of nights to rest, binge movies, or even set up a little photo studio for stable & fields projects. My husband might escape for a golf weekend or watch football with friends. Together, we find simple relief and happiness in a nice dinner at a centuries old, historic tavern or exploring a corner of New Hampshire we haven’t yet seen. Time and physical space to “reclaim” our identities has become a non-negotiable.

3. We are holding on to our passions.

Downsizing stable & fields from 40 products to 7 wasn’t easy. I cringe when customers ask about their favorite scent that’s no longer available. While I don’t have the ideal physical space for an inventory-based business, I do have an ideal work-at-home situation. I’ve been able to expand the business model of stable & fields; I’m excited to be building websites for equestrians, developing social media content and blogging. My husband, meanwhile, has taken to his cookbooks with gusto. Whether it’s the cast iron skillet, crockpot, his Backwoods smoker or the grill, he has been experimenting and serving up amazing meals. And every day, no matter what else happens, I get to see my horse, Cosmo. That alone saves me.

4. We are staying connected to lifelines.

Our chosen family — on both coasts — have always grounded us. Making the effort to stay in touch is hard at the end of the day when our matching recliners and Netflix is calling, but when we do connect, it reminds us that we’re not alone. And thanks to social media and texting, even the shortest of exchanges create a touch point that is a lifeline. Never underestimate what a few words and emojis, or especially a GIPHY can do to brighten someone’s day.

This certainly isn’t the life I pictured for myself at age 59. It’s smaller, limiting, and harder. But it’s also REAL and fueled by love. In this chapter of caregiving and repetition, it seems to be all about creating pockets; pockets of laughter, connection, and old and new passions. That is how we are building a life — even in limbo.

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So with that – we have the first completed post of the stable & fields blog. It won’t always be about caregiving or Alzheimer’s or the way my father-in-law wields a fork like a percussion instrument. Sometimes it will be about horses, sometimes about small business challenges, sometimes about the general messiness of life. But always – I hope — it will be about finding joy — even if it’s just in the small, ordinary things.