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.
June 24, 2009
June 13, 2009
Who They Really Are:
This comes from a friend I only recently caught up with after 20 years! His Facebook link is here: John F BaRoss Jr. He recently fell from a ladder and was badly injured enough to require several days of hospitalization (and we all know you have to be on death's door to get 1 overnight stay!) Here is what John said- what a wonderful comment on our loved one's :
During my recent hospitalization I had a 86 year old (WW2 vet) roommate and a neighbor who was 100. Then I came across this poem the other day:
What do you see nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding the long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse
you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding as I eat at your will
I'm a small child of Ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now....a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty, my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ' round my knee,
Again, we know children my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me my wife is now dead.
I look at the future. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young guy still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells
I remember the joys.....I remember the pain
And I'm loving and living....life over again.
I think of the years. all too few.....gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact.....that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ....open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!
During my recent hospitalization I had a 86 year old (WW2 vet) roommate and a neighbor who was 100. Then I came across this poem the other day:
What do you see nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding the long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse
you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding as I eat at your will
I'm a small child of Ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now....a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty, my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ' round my knee,
Again, we know children my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me my wife is now dead.
I look at the future. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young guy still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells
I remember the joys.....I remember the pain
And I'm loving and living....life over again.
I think of the years. all too few.....gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact.....that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ....open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!
June 10, 2009
Waiting for Loved Ones
When I was a little girl, we moved (for the trillionth time) to a new home. We had financial security for one of the only times I remember- but my dad was gone traveling ALL the time (if you wonder what is better; financial security or a dad home- know the latter is the big time winner) and Mother was going to college (something she was SOOO proud of). The college was only a few blocks away and she walked. We had a housekeeper/babysitter of whom I was very fond. But I was only 4 or 5 and my mother and I would watch "As The World Turns" together at noon and I understood none of it but I loved munching my bologna sandwich with her while we both concentrated on what was going to happen next!
I remember standing between the curtains in the kitchen and the window watching for her to walk up the drive. There was NOT a sense of JOY when I would see her. It was a sense of relief- of belonging and of security that would emerge. I think of that with our elders now.
I think we often put a lot of pressure on ourselves because we think our folks feel JOY from our visits (they might indeed). But the truth is that they desire mostly security. When they light up, it is not because we are there and are so much FUN but because our appearance was reassuring. Just like my mom rounded that corner each day and headed up my drive, I was given permission to find joy on my own. She was there- she was looking out for me- she would arrive the next day. Don't feel like you have to "provide" your parent with joy all the time. Just seeing you come up the drive and knowing you will do same in a week or two might be exacty what they need.
I remember standing between the curtains in the kitchen and the window watching for her to walk up the drive. There was NOT a sense of JOY when I would see her. It was a sense of relief- of belonging and of security that would emerge. I think of that with our elders now.
I think we often put a lot of pressure on ourselves because we think our folks feel JOY from our visits (they might indeed). But the truth is that they desire mostly security. When they light up, it is not because we are there and are so much FUN but because our appearance was reassuring. Just like my mom rounded that corner each day and headed up my drive, I was given permission to find joy on my own. She was there- she was looking out for me- she would arrive the next day. Don't feel like you have to "provide" your parent with joy all the time. Just seeing you come up the drive and knowing you will do same in a week or two might be exacty what they need.
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