Well, it’s been some time since my last post. Mostly, I’ve been swamped with work and my new chauffeurring responsibilities since Dad has lost his license. It’s been a very difficult transition for both of us, and we are (I should say, “I am”) only now marshaling the energy to explore new options. One that I’m hoping may work out is getting Dad to agree to pay for a companion to get him out and about a couple times a week. We talk with one highly recommended possible candidate next week – fingers are crossed.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of blame/fault during this whole process – I just want to shout “It’s not my fault” at him, sometimes, when he tells yet another stranger the sad tale of losing his license and how it just didn’t need to happen, with me sitting 3 feet away. It did need to happen, I want to say – and maybe, just maybe, if you’d eaten more (or, for that matter, any) vegetables and less steak, bacon and Scotch, your body wouldn’t have betrayed you in this way.
More recently, I’ve been working at stepping back and ignoring, which helps limit the explosive arguments the two of us can get into with each other. But removing myself that way and emotionally disengaging feels almost as harmful to the relationship as a go-for-the-jugular blow-up. In a way, it feels like a kind of abandonment.
So, I’ve found myself working my way through a progression of realizations – or, maybe, a realization of the realizations I need to pass through to get to a point of peace these days. It is, as the therapeutic community loves to say, “a process.” But I’m going to share these waypoints, as I see them, more as a way of talking them through for myself than as any sort of prescription for anyone else going through the process.
It’s not your fault. The person you’re caring for just got old, or got sick, or got sick and old. It’s not your fault. Getting comfortable with accepting this one has helped me a lot in the last few weeks – because, if it’s not my fault, then I’m also not responsible for making everything better. I can do my best to listen, help out and present alternatives, but I’m not on the line for making it all o.k., again.
It may be, at least partially, his/her fault. People don’t like admitting this one, I don’t think, because it can come across as blaming the victim, or hitting a guy when he’s already down. But the fact of the matter is that life choices today can affect quality of life tomorrow. People who keep smoking may well have serious issues with COPD 20 years from now. And people like my father, who refuse to change their fat-, salt- and Scotch-laden diets, despite serious kidney disease and congestive heart failure – well, they’ll probably pay a price in mobility, energy and presence of mind going forward.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. I don’t mean that you have to go back to thinking you actually can make it better – I just mean that, if you’re there, you still have to deal with the situation at hand, whatever that might be. You just can’t turn the fact that it isn’t your fault into a position of placing the blame for all current difficulties onto the person for whom you’re caring, or you’ll end up eating yourself up with anger.
Whenever possible, strive for kindness. (Note the caveat “whenever possible.”) This is much easier if you can get to the “it doesn’t matter” point in your head. But, even if you can’t, working toward a point of kindness might help you slowly ease toward that direction – sort of like how smiling when you’re unhappy can sometimes actually turn your mood around.
So, I don’t want you readers to think that I’ve gone through some zen-like transformation in the last six weeks. The anger I described in my last post is still there, I’ve just begun to realize that I can’t keep holding onto it and maintain a workable relationship with my father at the same time. This is one reason why, next week, I’m going to be seeing a therapist who has a sub-specialty in working with caregivers. As has been said in a completely different context, recognizing you have a problem is often the first step in solving it.
July 12, 2011 at 9:38 pm07
Thank you, Chuck, for another thoughtful post. I’ve pretty much given up trying to reason or argue with my mother when she complains about things, and instead just let her say what she wants. Sometimes that works better because she’s expecting a fight and when I don’t rise to the bait, she lets it go. Until the next time. As you say, it’s a process. Glad you’re going to be getting some professional help. Best of luck to you.
August 2, 2011 at 9:38 am08
I am sending you a big hug from South Jersey. I had to take away my Dad’s license 2 1/2 years ago. Boy did he hate me for awhile. But not more than I would have hated myself if he had killed someone while driving. Hang in there. Your writing is very honest and heartfelt.
August 2, 2011 at 9:38 am08
At least you’re a generation apart and you can say, “Not yet. Not yet.” My husband is in your dad’s position; I, two years younger, am the “young” one who chaffeurs, nurses, cooks, cleans up, sits around ER wondering what is a nice woman like me doing in a place like this.
Only two years between us. This could happen to me any time, too–tonight, tomorrow, in 10 minutes. And then who would take care of him? Who will take care of me?
All this is to say I understand. I wish you both well.
August 2, 2011 at 9:38 am08
I’ve thought about what it will be like to care for my partner as we age or if she becomes incapacitated for any reason. Your words really hit home to me. I will keep you in my thoughts during my daily meditation and hope that some peaceful energy will come your way. You’re a great writer, by the way. You might want to consider writing a blog or even a book.
August 2, 2011 at 9:38 am08
Chuck,
I work with caregivers and have worked with seniors in the past so I have seen both sides of the situation. Your words touch me deeply and I feel for what you are experiencing. I appreciate your honesty and the sensitivity expressed in your writing. Thank you for sharing.
August 3, 2011 at 9:38 am08
Doctors frustrate me. So, I have not reached the “because” stage yet.
August 3, 2011 at 9:38 pm08
Wow, Chuck you are the first person who for me, hit the nail on the head! I had so many issues in caring for my now deceased 94 year old aunt, sad at my job in ushering her through that stage of her life but also bereft at my middle age being “stolen” from me because I , like you, kept fast forwarding to my future. This is easier said than done, but you have to try to realize the present moment is all we have. It helped me some.
August 3, 2011 at 9:38 pm08
It’s hard. Caregiving is hard. The word “caregiving” seems so benevolent and soft and humane. But it’s hard.
August 6, 2011 at 9:38 am08
Thank you for this. Though my father willingly stopped driving, so many of the underlying caregiving issues are the same, and you’ve articulated them nicely. It is so helpful to hear another voice describing parallel experiences. I especially appreciate your insights about blaming, kindness, and how pulling back emotionally can amount to abandoning the relationship. Please keep writing – we’ll all keep reading.
August 6, 2011 at 9:38 pm08
I found some solace in your writing. I am where you are in life as well with a failing Mom. I’ve slowly been forced to sit by and watch her lose her mobility, her independance, her husband, her home, her dignity and it is killing me as well. I find myself looking out thru her eyes and I cannot cope. My Father passed in October and watching her life fade behind her in the rear view mirror has been more than any one person can handle. Blessings on you and your Dad. Your honest words are comforting. Thank you for sharing your story.
August 10, 2011 at 9:38 am08
I was an emergency room doctor for 13 years and believe me it is hard to explain in job interviews why I quit 15 years ago, after all that effort to get there. There were contributing practical reasons (night shifts) but the big reason that’s so hard to explain is what you’re experiencing. I was 30ish when it started. I’d look into any patient’s bed and feel that could be me. When I quit, I consciously wanted to return to a bit of normal human denial. I had gone into it wanting special knowledge and protection that does not exist, and special wisdom that is super hard to achieve. While I just helped my 86 year old mom through a brush with death, it came back stronger. (There are lots of levels, we go back to some denial asap. Recall that feeling when it’s fresh, of looking around at what others are doing and thinking how silly it looks?) As for who will care for me, I look to older “primitive” societies with tribal care and think, well, I pay the price for the independence and mobility I’ve loved all my life. Friends will help, but I may die a bit sooner than otherwise, and having seen some unenviable quality of life in the elderly, that may be ok with me.
August 11, 2011 at 9:38 am08
I found this blog through a mention in the NY Times. Couldn’t have come at a better time. I’m looking after aging parents and feeling that I must be a bad person because there is so much anger mixed in with the love, so much seeing myself in their helplessness. Thank you for helping me realize that this isn’t a failure, but just normal.
August 12, 2011 at 9:38 am08
I never saw the point of reading blogs before, but, thanks to a link from Jane Gross, my eyes have been opened, by your enlightening stories. I see where I am heading, and my husband (who has two younger sisters who, not surprisingly, did all the work for years preceeding his mother’s death in 2004, while he was thousands of miles away) doesn’t really ‘get’ what the future holds for me, as a 57 year-old only child of two parents in their early 80′s, one frail and the other fit, but heading noticeably towards dementia. Plus, you are a good writer, which helps a lot.
September 9, 2011 at 9:38 am09
Your site is helping more than you know. I was on facebook, trying to find some kind of support. I care for my 88 year old father in law. Not alone, with help, much help, but the 24/7 is getting to me. When do you believe them, when do you not. Dementia is the worst thing to happen to anyone. I have only read a few of your stories, but THANK YOU.
September 9, 2011 at 9:38 am09
Patricia – You are NOT alone. My Dad is 83 w/dementia.
A really great website is Caring.com. There is a forum on there, plus tips and expert advice. Check it out. http://www.caring.com