I’m procrastinating. I have this pesky To-Do list that mocks me every morning from my kitchen counter. Nothing big, just stupid stuff.

Call the timeshare company to re-book.

Return dress.

Get bike serviced.

Set up Zoom account.

Call medical insurance.

Send thank-you notes.

Order new business cards.

Ad nauseum.

For some reason, I just don’t feel like digging my teeth into this list. And this is no small admission because I am NOT a procrastinator. When something needs doin’, especially something unpleasant, I do it.

I just feel…stuck.

Not just geographically. No, it’s like I’m treading water. With my dad on hospice and the world once again in a nonsensical pandemic free-fall, I’ve decided to not travel this fall, but rather stick close to home and get back into the college classroom. This past year was the first in 33 years that I did not have a student roster. So with a full teaching schedule and other passion projects I’m involved in, I have more than enough to keep me busy for the remainder of 2021.

So why do I feel stuck?

I have this uneasy feeling that it has something to do with my dad.

According to Ingrid Lee, stuck-ness is “essentially a feeling that life is on hold, that you’re not making the progress you’d like to in some part of your life. It often happens when we’re waiting for something in our lives to change, whether we’re ready to find a partner but are struggling to meet the right person, or we’ve hit a plateau in our career, or there’s a global pandemic and we’re waiting for case numbers to finally drop so we can get back to traveling, socializing, working and enjoying life.”

Feeling stuck means you are reluctant to invest energy into your physical or emotional space because you refuse to commit to your present situation, or home. If you refuse to commit to your present home, there’s no way you can commit to your present life.

When someone you love is on hospice, you are waiting for them to pass on, and nothing much else has any meaning. There’s no way to glamorize it, or sugar-coat it. It is a long, stressful, worry-laden process that can shake even the strongest family to their core. When I look back on the end of my father’s life, I want to be able to say that the end was good. Full. Prescient. So we work hard together as a family to ensure that.

But it’s not easy.

I’ve talked to many people who have had elderly parents on hospice, and I’ve read many articles about it. And other than grief and fatigue, the same emotion rears its head over and over in these conversations:

Anger. Here is a quote:

My mom hasn’t ate or drank anything in almost 9 days. Why won’t this end? It’s becoming hell for me. Me and my sister have been watching over her in 12hr shifts and every one gets harder and harder. I find now I’m past the point of sadness and am angry now. Angry she won’t pass on, angry my mom has to suffer like this, angry me and my sister are being put through this hell for SO LONG. Even the nurses here seem bothered by it. At this point I’m here more for my sister than my mom. I don’t think she will let mom die alone and I can’t leave her here to do it by herself. I just don’t feel like this is right anymore and it now just disturbing. I don’t think my mom would want us here watching her die like this. I just want to move on.

I’m not a therapist, and emotions like this can’t be addressed in a silly blog post. But the quote above sends home this message:

It’s hard to move on when someone you love doesn’t want to. Or maybe they want to, and don’t have the faintest idea how to. Or even understand why they haven’t.

But move on we must. Humans move on, it’s what we do. Forward motion is life. So I’m going to unstick myself, and stop feeling paralyzed by a silly to-do list. I’m going to be grateful for the time I have left with my dad, and grateful for a 34th teaching semester.

34 years. Wow.

And I’m going to heed my own advice:

Get your shit together. Don’t wait. Do it now. Be you now. Now is all you have.

Now is your freaking life.