People tell me, good friends and family, that I must make the practical, rational, sane decision. And I know they are absolutely right, I should. I know continuing down the path we've been on, this adventure into trying to help another human being, someone in need, by bringing them into our home has been a rocky one. I can look back and see where I made the wrong choices, where I allowed sunk cost fallacy, stubbornness, and sheer desire for a different outcome alter my decisions.
I know that I have the right to not be made miserable, both emotionally and physically, in my own house by a relative stranger, that there are no legal bonds, nor moral obligations. I know that I cannot let family suffer because of a choice I made and could and should alter, even though the choice will cause pain. Any choice will at this point. I so royally screwed the pooch on this one, and yet intentions were in the right place. They still are. Sometimes helping, though, is nothing more than enabling. Sometimes you roll the hard six and you get your ass handed to you. There's no way to know till it's done and no way to turn back the clock.
So often we refuse to look up, we insist on keeping our head down and soldiering on. From there it is a very short trip to martyrdom, not one I'm inclined to make. And so that means facing the sick feelings in my stomach, the rock that my heart has become and making the sane, rational, practical decisions even if it feels like my head and heart will implode in the process.
Doing the right thing is not always easy. Sometimes it feels like the wrong decision because it hurts so badly. I can only hope that this roll of the die will be worth the risk, that it will be the right thing for everyone involved.