Crying wolf...

One of my favorite fables when I was a young girl was about the little boy who cried wolf. The premises is that a boy stood at the edge of his village and yelled to the townspeople that a wolf was about to do a lot of damage. The townspeople reacted quickly and ran to the aid of the boy to help him fend off the villainous four-legged creature. Each time, the people discovered that there was no wolf anywhere in sight. The child had lied to get everyone’s attention. The boy did this many times until the townspeople just starting ignoring his cries for help. Eventually, a wolf did show up, with its grey hairy face, and consumed the boy because no one came to help him as he cried out for help. The moral of the story for me was that I shouldn’t ask for help unless I really truly need it. Oh, yeah, there’s that don’t lie thing as well.

When an alcoholic asks for help and receives it and then goes out and starts the cycle anew – it’s a lot like the little boy who cried wolf. After a number of attempts, no one will believe that he truly wants help at all. Family, friends, rehab centers, insurance companies, and counselors begin to believe that the alcoholic is not being honest in his desire for help. It’s why an alcoholic will not be admitted to rehab after many failed attempts at helping the alcoholic achieve a sober lifestyle.

There are other ways that the boy who cried wolf analogy works. For end-stage caretakers we become accustomed to hearing medical professionals tell us that the alcoholic’s time on earth is coming to a close. We gather the family around and break the heart-wrenching news to our children. We take on a vigil of prayers for a miracle that will stop the dying process and give the alcoholic a profound desired for sobriety. We wait. We cry. We try to make deals with God. And finally, we believe that God has heard and granted us our wishes because the alcoholic miraculously revives and comes back to us. It appears that the doctors have cried wolf when there was none in sight.

After a few weeks, or months, we discover that only a part of the prayer was granted because the alcoholic goes back to drinking and we find ourselves back in the hospital waiting room.  Once again we gather around and things play out much the same as the previous hospital visit. And once again the alcoholic survives and remembers nothing of the ordeal. How could he/she? They were not “in the present” when the crying, hand-wringing, praying and pleading took place. The wolf never appeared.

This can go on and on for years. The doctors cry wolf and then the wolf turns out to be nothing more than a little bunny rabbit hopping along his trail with no intent to harm. Finally, the family stops coming when the wolf appears to be near. They stop praying and crying and pleading. They stop going to the hospital. They begin to believe that the alcoholic is immortal. Even if the wolf showed up, he would not gobble the alcoholic up and cause any mayhem at all.

We, the family, get to a point where we stop believing what the doctors say. How can we believe what has turned out to be untrue so many times? We are the townspeople and the doctors are the little boy. The wolf represents death and it just doesn’t seem to really arrive.

That’s where my family is with Riley. We keep hearing that Riley’s has used up the last of his nine lives, but then it doesn’t seem to be turning out that way. In fact, my daughter comes out and says that she doesn’t believe anything the doctors tell us about Riley’s life expectancy. She observes how he looks from the outside and in her eyes; he’s not even as bad as he was when he had the stroke. So she believes she’ll be able to tell how close he is to the cremation urn using her own measurements.

I have received lots of comments about what a difficult time this is for me and I’m in everyone’s prayers. I am so appreciative that I have so many people who wish I weren’t going through this.

It is unfortunate, that my pain is not so much for the loss of Riley as a companion, but the fear of losing myself as I try to juggle all the details. I make the mistake of trying to make decisions based on a sensible outcome. But there is no logic to any of this. I will probably get to the place where all the paperwork is done, all the arrangements are made and there is nothing left to do but wait. I’ll probably end up waiting for years and the wolf will never appear. By the time he does show his face, what if, because of the stress, the wolf is at my door long before he shows up at Riley’s?

I know that I’m falling into a depression. I am very lucky that I recognize it and can take some positive action to fight it. I also know that the townspeople are on their way to help me. They aren’t really coming to help Riley, instead they will be there for me whether Riley is there or not. I’m grateful that I learned the lesson of the little boy who cried wolf by not crying out for help so many times that I have become unbelievable.

My depression is countered by putting as much focus on my many projects as I can. Oh – but wait – one of the reasons I’m depressed is because I’m not spending as much time on my projects as I would like. My time is being taken up by preparing for a wolf that may never show up. Sometimes the frustration is more than I want to handle. It’s not that I can’t handle it – it’s that I don’t want to.

My mother had a little book that had been given to her from a beloved family member. I don’t know who – but someone. She gave me the little leather bound book one day when I was complaining about not having anything to read. It was her book of fables. I have read that book from cover to cover many times. It is well worn. It is well loved. It is something I will pass down to my great-grandchildren when the wolf is, in fact, stalking me. My hope is that they will learn and live by the lessons in that little book.

In the meantime, I’m going to read through that book again and see if there’s a fable that will help me with doing things I need to do even if I don’t want to do them. There must be something in there…