Rant, Rant, Rave

Back to the CNA thing. I just cannot get it out of my skull. I will get more rewards from wiping asses that I would by being Donald Trump. Point Blank. Period. Without a doubt in my mind.

Here is why, I get to make a difference. To me rewarding is that feeling you get when you finish the baby blanket for the new niece/nephew. It is getting invited to go with a resident to their family holiday dinner at home because that residents sees me as one of the kids. It is being able to make my sons smile after a few seconds of joking around. It is making the last moments of one of my residents better because I can hold their hand and pray with them even though I am trying (not successfully, mind you) to keep from bawling so much my eyes float away. Those daily little reminders that show me I make a difference.

This is the epiphany I had when contemplating leaving my girlfriend because one of our sons is depressed and thinks the world would be better off without him. Not one of the therapists he has seen knows why or what happened to our son. I thought that it might be because of me. That my relationship with their mom combined with their fathers total lack thereof might have caused this. Thankfully, this delusion only lasted a few minutes, I could never abandon my family like that. I am their mom, too. I think my depression is at an end. I cannot be there for my sons if I am constantly worrying (how the hell am I going to pay for this field trip or that bill). I cannot be a mom if I am constantly trying to figure out my role in life. I am terribly disappointed in myself that I only came to realize what a wonderful role I have and what a difference I make after my son's diagnosis. My blog really is apt then. I almost killed what matters most to me with my own absurdity.