Taking care of my mother was a full-time job.

COVID arrived in March of 2020, and with it came fear that tightened the walls of the house. My mother was afraid to go out. So were the rest of us. Someone still had to get groceries. I remember standing in the aisle, masked, watching people move past each other like strangers in a foreign country, trying not to touch anything I didn’t have to.

I never got sick. I still knock on wood when I say that.

At home, the days settled into a rhythm of cooking, cleaning, and keeping things moving. None of it felt extraordinary. It only felt endless. My younger brother was there too—a Desert Storm and Desert Shield veteran with his own disabilities. His presence was meant to help, and in many ways it did. Still, there was a loneliness that didn’t lift. Being supported didn’t always mean being accompanied.

Every week, my mother wrote her newspaper column. She hadn’t been paid for it in years, but she didn’t want to let her readers down. Writing had been part of her life for more than three decades, and even as her world grew smaller, she held onto that deadline. We worked on those columns together, week after week, until the end. She died on May 18, 2021.

Somewhere in those months, I stopped writing for myself. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. The way it had happened before—during my marriage—by putting everyone else first and telling myself I could wait. Writing became something I helped with rather than something I lived. I was useful. I was dependable.

And slowly, quietly, I disappeared from the page.

At the time, I told myself this was just what love looked like. Showing up. Doing what needed to be done. Putting myself last. I had learned long ago how to be useful. What I hadn’t learned yet was how easily usefulness could replace a life — or how quietly joy could disappear without anyone noticing, including me.

—

Alignment Before Outcome
A short reflection

At the time, I thought I was simply showing up for others. I didn’t see how easy it was to lose alignment when responsibility took over. What I’m learning now is that alignment begins when we notice that we’ve gone missing—and decide to return.