Shower Rather Than Sprinklers

One of my favorite stories about my dad actually took place before I was born. My sister was about 3 years old. My dad was going to college at University of California at Davis- so my mom worked during the day and he took care of Virginia and studied and tried to arrange his classes for the evenings. They lived in student housing with other young families.
So the story goes that one hot California day the bigger kids in the apartments (ages about 6 to 10) were playing in the sprinklers. Virginia wanted to play too. But my dad knew that she could get hurt- she was just too little for that activity in that crowd. But she didn't understand and became really unhappy. So he used his ingenuity and came up with an idea. He and Virginia put on their bathing suits and got in the shower- he splashed her and she splashed him and they had a fine time. She was one happy little girl because she really was able to play in the sprinklers with her favorite person- her daddy! He kept her safe but let her do something the bigger kids were doing.
When we have caregiver decisions to make, I think that is our most poignant struggle. How do we keep the loved one safe and yet give them the experiences they are seeking? It is a constant challenge to balance what is "good for them" with "what they want". I was in a caregiver support group today and was inspired at the challenges some of the attendees face. One had recently moved her father into skilled care- another has a mother-in-law in deep need, and a couple others have husbands with Alzheimer's still living at home. I know that when I was growing up, my parents got off balance at times- overprotecting or underprotecting!! I am positive I did the same as they aged- I sure forgave them- I think they forgave me.
The desire to play in the sprinklers was part of my sister's journey- my dad happened to make it a small part of his on that day. But I don't think he forgot it was HER journey.
Do your best and remember to allow your loved one to have their journey- it's what they would want to have happen. When my dad was in a state where he seemed to recognize no one, a nurse gently reminded me that he and God weren't done talking- when I questioned what was going on, I would remind myself that his conversations with God at that point were part of HIS journey- not mine. All the hovering in the world wasn't going to change his journey. I needed to keep him as safe as possible and help him when I could understand something he wanted- but had to keep knowing his journey belonged to him.