Reflections of a Daughter of the Silent Generation and Mother of Generation Y
Bottom Line? Mom still kicked ass, even with “moderate dementia of the Alzheimer’s type” (doctor’s new diagnosis) as I witnessed at night when I’d go in to tell her I loved her and she’d say: “Aren’t we lucky?”
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
I was one of Mom’s caregivers and, so far, I was doing just fine. I could do this. In fact, I loved doing this, even when it was hard, thanks to Mom’s amazing attitude and the incredible support we received.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
Time with my spouse, when he had my full attention, was rare. It was time to make an effort to find time together in our life with Mom in our home.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
That night, when Mom stood up to go to bed, she looked at me with her one good eye, smiled, and said, “Thank you for helping me to … to try to stay alive.” Not morbid, not dramatic, just straight-forward and true – that was Mom.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
AA’s Step Three: “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of our Higher Power.” Like the kids when they were young, Mom trusted me so completely it was sobering; it helped to know I wasn’t alone. (See, Al-Anon’s Twelve Steps & Twelve Traditions)
—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
What’s the Bottom Line? My Dad’s catchphrase, the one he came back to, used to bug me. I fought its simplicity, was irritated by his repetitiveness, preferred the complications.
The Bottom line:
My Dad died almost ten years ago.
He was uncomfortable with difficult emotions.
He worked right up to the end.
He drank too much.
He was imperfect.
The Bottom Line:
My Dad was funny.
He was insightful.
He was devoted to my Mom, his clients, and his family.
He is still with me.
He was and is my Dad.
(Written in 2012)
The Bottom Line:
I love you Dad.
I miss you Dad.
I carry you with me every day.
I know you trust me to take care of Mom.
I will do my best to protect her happiness, health and independence without sacrificing my own.
(Added in 2017)
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
Just because a person can’t remember, it doesn’t mean they can’t be fully present, trying to make sense of the world around them. I’m grateful Mom was near, where we could help.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
I am thankful that over the years, I found time to write and to express; this outlet helped me later, much of my time spent within our home caring for Mom. As she sat beside me, reading her book, I sat beside her, typing away at my computer, thinking, strategizing, having fun.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
I’m Okay: Stay or go? I don’t know. Them or her? I’m not sure. Where to be? Don’t ask me. Either way, I’m okay.
—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story
