of anxiety began to sprout as I drove toward my house. I wondered how I would ever figure out what to do. I wondered why finding help was my job. I wondered what was in store for all of us. And most of all, I wondered what might happen if I weren't successful in my search.
My instincts accurately predicted that the shape of our lives had shifted. Joy began leaking from my soul as I faced the possibility that none of us might ever know normal again.
I have to remind myself to breathe— almost to remind my heart to beat.
− Emily Brontë
…
Reflection
Listen
Too many times we talk, rattling on with a personal agenda. Or we dither away trying to conjure up a solution for a real or imaginary problem. Seldom is the first choice to listen. We seem to think that beating a subject to death with words will somehow present a magic answer.
When talking proves fruitless, stop and listen.
Examine, just for a moment, who might be important to listen to. Do you need to listen to another person—perhaps a doctor, family member, pastor, or friend? Do you need to listen to that too often ignored inner voice? Do you need to listen to someone that you can’t see—someone who isn’t covered in skin?
If you find yourself caring for another person for a temporary or an extended period, one of your best assets is the ability to listen. Resources and answers abound if you close your mouth and open your ears. It’s absolutely amazing what you can learn when you stop talking!
Just listen.
…
Chapter 4
Beginning
The process of beginning to take control of someone’s life is not pleasant. Even though my parents admitted the need for assistance in order to stay in their own home, they were not anxious to have outsiders intrude in their lives. Especially my mother would have been quite happy to have me, and only me, fill her days. Instinctively I knew that I must explore options beyond myself.
Monday morning dawned, ushering in the search for help for my parents. If they were to stay at home, they would need help—lots of help, I thought. I began leafing through the phone book yellow pages. One phone call led to another. Referrals and multiple lists filled my notebook as I began exploring various possibilities. Time seemed to speed up as many options confused me.
Exhausted Teresa, after staying with Mom and Dad for a few more days, decided to go back to her own life leaving behind little doubt about her intention to avoid involvement in our parents’ lives, if possible. Always reminding anyone who would listen, she droned on and on about how difficult and tiring it was to be with our parents. Catching me alone, in spite of my efforts to dodge her, my sister grabbed the opportunity to complain, “I am completely worn out! I wish you had the ability to understand how tiring it is to be here, but I doubt that will ever happen. I’ve just got to get back home. On top of everything else, I have a drive to another state ahead of me and I’m so exhausted I don’t know if I can make it that far!” Even though I thought having her around somehow eased some of the growing responsibility in dealing with our parents, once my sister left, I realized that she added a significantly stressful component to the mix and I was glad she was gone. I convinced myself that dealing with Mom and Dad’s situation by myself was easier than answering to or trying to avoid my sisters.
Before departing, Exhausted Teresa put the finishing touches on a report she and Sanctimonious Shirley had written. Carefully placed on my parents’ kitchen table where I couldn’t miss it, the epistle was full of their enumerated observations and instructions; how to sabotage my father’s car so he could no longer drive, hiding his keys just in case he figured out what I had done, and calling their various doctors to discuss the number of medications Mom and Dad were taking every day which obviously needed to be pared down. I was to find quality help for them—people who could be trusted. Last, but certainly not least, they created a detailed list of expectations for me, including errand running, grocery shopping, and anything else they could think of that ran on for pages and pages, typed and single spaced.
After reading bits of the sisters’ drivel, I decided not to waste any of my time with their trivia. I tore it into dozens of pieces and left it in the trash. The sisters felt relieved by the wisdom of their words. I felt nothing but irritation and loneliness.
…
Reflection
Lists
Write things down. Write everything down. Make lists… lots of them. If you think that you will remember, I can absolutely confirm that you will not. I say that not to discourage you but to give you a preview of the complexity of managing the life of someone else, as well as your own. The line between the two fades and keeping track of even the most basic activities may become impossible to keep inside your head.
Decide where you will write your lists. If you don’t decide, scraps of paper take over your life. You may not notice that life has filled to the overflow, until one fateful moment when you can’t find what you need. Failing to retrieve the right scrap of paper containing a bit of vital information, can melt you into a puddle of frustration in the middle of the scraps. Even if it’s right in front of you, don’t count on being able to see it.
The answer? Get yourself a snazzy organizer notebook where you can write everything. It needs to be snazzy so you can find it easily. And it needs to be something that you can grab quickly with one hand. Multi-tasking becomes a familiar way of existence and your list-containing notebook just might save your sanity.
Take a moment.
Get an organizer. Do it NOW!
…
Chapter 5
Finding Help
In my search for competent help, I spent hours conducting interviews with agencies as well as self-employed individuals before hiring a variety of people to assist my parents. After settling on a tentative caregiving schedule, the holidays were upon us, so I waited from Thanksgiving until after New Year’s Day before implementing the system of retired medical (former nurses) and non-medical (companionship/helpers) personnel.
As new people assumed some of my mom’s responsibilities, she felt relieved. Although no one approached tasks the way she did, Mom realized how much easier it was for her to have their help. She also enjoyed a side benefit of developing relationships with the staff of caregivers, particularly the college students whom she liked to mother. She learned about their families, what they were studying in school, their hobbies and anything else she could think of. In turn, they doted on her and tried very hard to do things Mom’s way.
Dad tolerated the intrusion into their privacy for the sake of my mom and he was glad when each helper’s shift was over and the two of them could be alone again.
Most of the time Dad was capable of managing his daily activities by himself. He kept exercising several times each week and continued dealing with their financial affairs, just as he had always done.
A few weeks after the new routine began, Dad decided that I was to be the designated person to take over when he was no longer able. Dad, still well aware of his surroundings, contacted his attorney and asked him to draw up the necessary paperwork. Once the papers were in my dad’s possession, he told me of his plan—one that I wasn’t at all enthusiastic about. Dad was insistent, and so to pacify him, I eventually agreed, never imagining the implications of his decision.
Within a few