Return to Sender

I woke from my nightmares and began my day. The pets needed tending first: the screamer, the jumper, and the glarer. Once they were sated, I woke my family and got them up and moving. I walked them all through their responsibilities for the day. I made sure they ate, took their pills, cleaned and dressed themselves. Then I walked them through their day again.

After I saw them to their respective appointments, I rushed to care for myself. I only had 10 minutes before I had to leave for work, but I had the quick prep down to a science after 30 years of practice.

As I sped out the door, I noticed a small brown paper box next to my purse. It was addressed to me. I had not ordered anything, so I assumed it was a mistake. I wrote 'Return to Sender' on it, and put it in the mail box on my way to work.

12 hours of work and errands later, I was home. The beating hearts in my house had many needs, and I made sure they were all satisfied before I went to bed.

6 hours of nightmares later, I was up and at it again. Pets, husband, kids, me.

On my way out the door, I saw a medium sized package by my purse. It had my name on it, like the one from the day before. Annoyed, I wrote 'RETURN TO SENDER' on it, and sent it off in the mail on the way to work.

Tending, nightmare, tending...then yet another box. This one was much to large to ship off in the mail. It required a special trip.

This would throw off my entire day.

I just didn't have time for this crap.

I threw it in the garbage and moved on.

The next day there was an even bigger box. It blocked the door.

I was infuriated.

How could I handle all of my obligations if I was constantly being bombarded by these annoying packages!

I looked all over this me-sized package, trying to find who could possibly be sending me these dumb boxes.

I finally found the address...but it was my own name listed as both the sender and the sendee.

I was flummoxed. How could I be the sender of a series of packages I had never seen before.

I threw caution, and my schedule, to the wind and marched down to the post office.

They were as confused as I was, and told me that I, myself, had gone there and delivered those packages in person.

They handed me back the packages I tried to return, all of them but the one I had thrown in the trash, plus a new box that was simply too large to ignore, much less fit in my car.

I brought them home with me, and carried them up the stairs, all with varying difficulty.

I left them to sit in the corner.

I didn't know how to handle this.

The packages just kept coming.

Nightmares.

Care for family.

Packages.

Work.

Errands.

Care for family.

Nightmares.

Care for family.

Packages.

Work.

Errands.

Care for family.

Nightmares.

Care for family.

Packages.

Work.

Errands.

Care for family.

I was overwhelmed by the packages. I could no longer do my job. I could no longer function in my role as caregiver.

I opened the packages.

I was then overwhelmed in another way. My own voice came pouring out of the boxes. Decades of screaming, pleading, and sobbing assaulted my ears. I curled into a ball, covered my head, but I could no longer ignore the pain stored in those horrible boxes.

The sound crushed me to dust- yet I somehow survived.

I added my screams to my own screams. It was almost beautiful in its complexity.

Then, I slept. Right there on the floor, surrounded by shreds of brown paper.

My family could not wake me.

They begged and pleaded for me to wake up. To get better.

They needed me.

I tried to answer them. I tried to get up. To help them.

I simply couldn't manage.

All I could do was lay there, hearing my own screams echo in my head.

After many days, my family learned to live without me. They got up on their own. They made their own schedule. My husband even made noble attempts to tend me as I lay comatose in a nest of brown paper.

Soon enough, the screams dissipated. All that was left was a single question, repeated over again.

What about YOU?

What about YOU?

What about YOU?

Well, what ABOUT me, I wondered.

Who was I to had needs, desires, or hopes?

I was nothing.

I was only worth anything because of what I gave to others.

It was that thought that snapped me out of my dormancy.

What was I DOING!? My family needed me!!!

I sat up, and looked around.

I was alone.

The house was dirty, but intact.

My grumpy cat came to nuzzle me. My loud cat screamed her hellos.

The jumping puppy was missing.

So was my daughter.

Their things were gone as well. Just a mountain of garbage left where they once were.

I cleaned it up.

I cleaned the whole house.

I threw everything away. Then I bought more things to replace them.

I applied for, and obtained, a better job.

I bought new clothes.

I chopped off my hair.

My husband was afraid of and for me, but he supported me as I tore through our life like I tore through those packages.

My daughter could not handle me now, so she did not return.

It made me sad, but I could no longer stretch myself to her. She was just too far away.

The packages stopped coming. My husband tried every day to make sure I felt cared for, and I tried every day to care for myself.

I wasn't happy. I don't think I would ever be capable of that emotion.

I was content; It was more than I could hope for otherwise.