Identify Our “Why?”
I’ve mentioned Dr. Roxanne Kelley James several times in other blogs, but always in the education arena. A brilliant administrator, she repeatedly reminded us to focus on the “Why” and that everything else would follow. “Nothing matters”, she would tell us, “as long as you know your “Why”.
On the cusp of a brand new year, filled with opportunities and chances, I thought it was the right time to delve into the “Why” of the majority of caregivers, and tell you my own path to my “Why”.
Cultural Reasons
There are deeply held and revered cultural norms surrounding the care of the elderly. Many cultures perceive the elderly almost reverently, giving them tremendous respect not only for what they have done, but also for what they KNOW and can pass onto our generation. This belief that the elderly are the fountains of knowledge in the world is not only widely considered, it is absolutely right! The only people who can share the horrors of World War 2, or the devastation of The Great Depression are dying out, and the first-hand knowledge of these life-altering events will die with them.
When Nanny, the Great and Powerful, turned 80, Big Brother Bob created a list of historical questions to ask her. He rounded up props and symbols of the greatest events of the century, and videotaped her with the item answering the questions. Born in 1908, this was 1998, and BBBob shared the videotape with all of us. It was spectacular to hear the things from the history books directly from her mouth. What those air raid drills really felt like, the horrors of MLK’s and JFK’s death, and how her family managed to survive in The Great Depression with no money, no job and no skills. Answer: Nanny sold bathtub gin.
I can completely understand the concept that some cultures virtually demand that the elderly be cared for in the home by the younger generations. The younger generations do it not only out of respect for the elderly, but as a guidepost for the next generation, so that they will see the proper way to care for the elderly, for when they themselves get older.
Familial Obligation
Some people are raised to care for their parents. Literally, some people are told quite directly that their obligation is to take care of their parents until their ultimate deaths. I’ve known several people who never had any doubt that they would be responsible for their parents, and even structured their own lives to work into that reality. I’ve known people who have sacrificed their own lives—romantic and personal—so that they could be available to their parents. I’ve seen them end relationships that held great promise, staying in careers that are unsatisfying just so they can answer this familiar commitment.
Most of these people are women. Frankly, most caregivers are women anyway, so this isn’t a big surprise. Some of these relationships have their basis in cultural norms, but family obligation transcends everything to some people. It is unfortunate that many of these people never felt like they had a choice.
Family obligation extends itself into the later-stage care of parents far too often. The idea that “Dad can’t ever go into a facility” is really quite common in the caregiving community, and I think it sets us up for incredible hardship and misery. The idea that your family obligation extends to high-end nursing duties is unrealistic and extremely damaging to both the caregiver and the overall relationship. I’ve seen family obligation go into extreme cases, and it never ends well for anyone involved. Not only is the elderly parent not getting the best available care, but the relationship can suffer when the caregiver—whose heart isn’t in The Job—faces burnout and exhaustion from doing a job they simply are not capable of doing.
Guilt
I have to comment on people doing The Job out of guilt, and it will be a short answer. I don’t respond to guilt, and there is no way you can be an effective Mayor with guilt as the basis for the Job. Don’t do it. It’s a horrific trap.
My “Why”—A Love Letter
The history – “Okay, Pat, but why are you The Mayor?”
I don’t know when the conversations started with me and Pop sitting on couches around the country discussing their situation. It is pretty weird, actually, since I am the youngest of a large family. Normally, the youngest is the least likely to do The Job, and tends to be more self-involved than the older siblings. That’s all true, by the way. We were always close, my parents and I, with me living at home until the day of my marriage in 1990 at the age of 24. We traveled together from birth until Pop’s death in 2016, going everywhere in the country and on multiple cruises alone, and with my siblings and their families.
I achieved things that made my parents very proud, and I included them in all of my celebrations—giving credit where credit was due. The thing Pop was most proud of was my teaching degree, something both me and Big Brother Billy achieved. While I was student teaching, Pop took a very rare full day off of work to come to “observe” me, like my professors did. I had no warning, and found him in the back of my classroom taking notes. He presented me with his notes at our post-observation meeting at his desk in his bedroom, giving me praise and suggestions for improvement. When we were done, he reverted back to “Dad mode”, and shed a tear as he told me how proud he was of me. The entire process blew me away, and I’ve never forgotten a minute of it.
We were close.
By the time I married Sweet Husband in 1990, I knew they would age in my home. It was a condition of our marriage, actually, that we accept the reality that both sets of parents might age with us. Nothing was settled, but we both knew that we would shoulder the burdens and responsibilities of helping our parents age.
Things were finalized in 2000. At the beginning of this millennium, Pop approached us about making some final preparations for their ultimate care. He wanted us to move to a larger home and create in-law quarters for their use. We agreed, but at that time things were still so nebulous and futuristic, I had no idea what The Job actually entailed.
The reality – “So, why did you do it?”
I did it because I was naive and young and didn’t really see the decades of work that would follow. I had no idea what The Job really would turn into, and no concept of just how bad it could get. I did it because I was cavalier and loved my parents.
The first years, decade even, were so simple, I was sure things would go perfectly. Like all children, I envisioned my parents being 90 years old, but still active like 50, dying peacefully in their sleep without ever having suffered any embarrassing or debilitating side effects. I saw myself tending to them calmly and quietly with hot tea and a gentle tucking in of their sheets while they looked up at me with adoring eyes, thanking me for my help.
I was a freaking idiot.
I didn’t see the hundreds—no exaggeration there people—of doctor’s appointments in my future. The days that turned into weeks off of school to care for them before, during and after surgeries to repair and replace things in their bodies that just plain wore out. I didn’t imagine, in my wildest dreams, my mother screaming in my face because she didn’t recognize me, or my father needing help with toileting. None of that was in my serene, romantic vision of care-giving.
I bought the “Hollywood version” lock, stock and barrel, and instead inherited the gritty, unapologetic reality of life with sick, elderly parents.
Just. Like. You.
“So, Pat…Why?”
I do it for them, because they did it for me.
It really is that simple. I wasn’t an easy child to raise, and I gave them many sleepless nights, and I know they fought about how to handle me during those super fun teenage years. Mom has kept my secrets, and Pop has shared my aspirations.
I do The Job out of a deep feeling of love and devotion that colors my every decision.
I do it for the vision of my mother outside a surgery recovery room. I hear the nurses call “Shirley for Patti?” and as clear as day my mother’s voice saying ‘I’m here for her”.
I do it for my father, sitting in the back row of a classroom in his one good suit, taking notes on a lesson he didn’t really understand.
And I do it with joy.
THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR!!!
Wow! You made it! Thank you for reading about my ‘why!’
Hey, since you’re here! You may as well check out part 1 of death vigils, here, or if you’ve read that, check out part 2, here! Or maybe you want to hear more about Pop, here. Or, check out our other topics here! Either way, I appreciate you!
Please leave a COMMENT about any tips you may have!! Or comment with YOUR story! Any dementia stories? Let me know!
Please, feel free to contact me or leave a COMMENT with anything you would like to hear more about! Or reach out with any unrelated questions, comments, concerns, or random outbursts of excitement by clicking here.
Oh! And don’t forget to check out my video series by CLICKING HERE!!!
Resources
https://www.aplaceformom.com/caregiver-resources/articles/how-different-cultures-care-for-seniors
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/what-other-cultures-can-teach_n_4834228
https://www.medicinenet.com/can_you_refuse_to_care_for_an_elderly_parent/article.htm