Reflections of a Daughter of the Silent Generation and Mother of Generation Y
I don’t believe Mom saw Alzheimer’s coming; I do believe, though, that it would have eased her mind to know that she continued to make new friends, bringing joy, humor and grace, and inspiring the rest of us to do the same.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
Dear Higher Power, Please help me to take heroic measures to love and care for Mom, to help her continue to live healthy and well – not to prolong the time when she is failing and unwell. Please help me to never give up, and also to let go when the time comes. Please help me to honor Mom while she is alive, and also when she dies. A DNR – natural death – is the right choice – it’s a choice my Mom has made. It’s a choice I agree with. It’s a choice that hurts and relieves. It’s a choice I need to respect. Please help me to find peace with Mom’s DNR. Thy will be done. Amen
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
In a world with atrocity, apathy, anxiety, distraction and just plain busy-ness, I was touched by all the simple kindnesses that helped me as I helped Mom. Thanks to those simple, and often unexpected, kindnesses, the pieces of our life in Maine were starting to fall into place.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
I was grateful, too, that these days, I could sit at Mom’s side, no words necessary, knowing she felt my love and that it was the emotionality I once felt sorry about, that fueled me now in her daily care.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
“When we get to Maine…” Mom often said, as she sat in our new home, here in Maine. Then, returning in the snow from the doctor’s office, we passed the dentist she’d gone to for five decades. “Dr. Ortengren…” she read aloud from the sign, and then turned toward me with a, “I guess we’re home.”
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
As my spouse and I drove 1400 miles to Maine where we’d set up shop for Mom and Cinnamon to join us, I tried to be brave, to count my lucky stars, to practice my faith. Fingers crossed, in prayer and gratitude.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
It’d been fifteen years since Dad died, and I looked for him every day, grateful for all the ways he was still right here, with me.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
The day Mom had a stroke in her eye, likely leaving her sight permanently impaired, I went in to say good night. After giving her her medicine, including the long-taken baby aspirin to reduce risk of stroke and the newly prescribed eye drop to reduce the pressure in her injured eye, Mom looked at me and asked, “We had a nice afternoon, didn’t we?”
“Yes, Mom, we had a nice afternoon.” I hugged her and said, “Thank you for showing me how it’s done.”
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
You ask me, “What was the baddest thing you ever did?”
Your seven-year-old innocence hanging there, between us in the air.
At first I shrug, where do I begin?
Someday maybe I’ll share…the baddest thing I ever did:
I said yes when I wish I’d said no…loss of me, loss of health, loss of time for my self.
Too ashamed to write down the details here, after all this time, still filled with fear.
Fear, you’ll love me less, if you only knew.
True love of me – a cliché I know, but one that is true.
Too much, too deep, too painful to pass along – even after all this time,
so I hold it all in and I answer you back,
“Oh, I did my share, but the baddest thing I did was not be honest to others,
to say yes when I wish I’d said no.”
Then I ask you back, “What was the baddest thing you ever did?”
You shrug.
Why didn’t I stick with that?
(A poem for our youngest, 2005)
—from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
