Part of my core identity is being a protector. I do not know where this came from. What I know is that if I love someone, I will do everything I can to protect that someone.
I fail at this.
I failed when my stepdaughter died.
I failed when my wife suffered while fighting lung cancer and then died.
I failed when I gave away my two cats so I could run away from my grief.
I failed when I couldn’t protect Snickers from canine dementia.
And yet, I’m still going to keep trying.
Today, the only loved one I feel responsible to protect is my dog Wiggles.
Sometimes my protection instinct kicks in with strangers.
I’ve had the opportunity to help more than one elderly stranger who had fallen on the street.
I’ve helped lost animals.
I’ve even tried to help people who looked like they were having a bad day.
I don’t love any of them, so my “protection” here is short term and limited.
It still makes me feel good, which is why I do it.
An acquaintance recently asked me, “Would you take on an open-ended commitment to care for someone who is ill, elderly and likely to decline?“
She is doing this for a distant relative and it’s reached a point where the costs in terms of physical effort, emotional drain and time commitments, are overwhelming her.
It took me a few days to respond.
My response was no.
I don’t have the capacity to do this again.
Maybe someday this will change.
For now, I am at ease with it just being me and Wiggles.