Parenting Our Parents

An incident I witnessed on a vacation many years ago continues to shine a light on one of the hardest tasks of caregiving.

During our hike through a national park, our family stopped in a picnic area to have lunch. As I made sandwiches for my three young sons, I could hear wails from the picnic table next to ours.

“But Mom, it’s my money.” The little boy’s face was red; his eyes were swollen.

An older girl and another boy, siblings, I’m sure, looked almost as sad. They watched the mom as she said, “John, I know you worked hard for this money. But you aren’t taking good enough care of it. If I hadn’t seen it and picked it up, your allowance would still be back there on the counter in the gift shop. You can spend it, but I’ll carry it with me.”

I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t escape hearing John’s next plea: “But Mom! I’m old enough! I’ll do better. Please?”

monkey parent“Johnny,” his mom answered, and I’m pretty sure I heard tears in her voice, too, “I don’t want you to lose everything you worked for. If you lose it, all of us will be unhappy. I’ll take care of it for you.”

I remember how sorry I felt for Johnny. But I hurt for his mom as well. We want so much to make our children happy, but there are times when we just can’t. Sometimes we have to say no.

Since my children are grown now and have children of their own, I thought I was free from having to make those hard choices. I was mistaken. Like many caregivers, I had to step back into the parenting role again.

Parenting my parents.

Mom was in her sixties when Dad realized she could no longer balance the checkbook. Mom had always paid the bills; Dad took over that job, too. As pots and pans were scorched on the stove because Mom forgot about them, Dad became the cook. When he ran out of clean clothes, he started doing laundry. They went to the grocery store together; Dad did the shopping while Mom wandered up and down the aisles, stopping to look at greeting cards or artificial flowers or bars of soap.

Dad kept these changes to himself for as long as he could, but eventually Mom’s behavior became so bizarre it could no longer be hidden.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Dad?” I asked after one of Mom’s harder days.

“Now Katrinka, I wasn’t hiding anything. I figured your mama just wasn’t interested in her old routines anymore.”

Balderdash. You don’t raise your children or your parents without coming to know them inside and out. And I know that, inside, Dad was 1) afraid of the possibility Mom was ill, and 2) determined that if she was ill, he would keep their home running just as it always had. “Normal.” That’s what he wanted. The two of them living in the pink brick house, taking care of each other, as they had ever since they were married.

help when you need it

While they did stay in their home, “normal” became me spending my days with them in the pink brick house. At first I helped Dad take care of Mom. Later on, when macular degeneration rendered Dad almost blind, I found myself more often in the role of parent, mainly to Mom, but sometimes to both of them.

Remember when you put things like scissors and knives and matches away, out of sight and out of reach of your children? That’s one of the first things I did when I discovered Mom had Alzheimer’s. I hid anything I could imagine might cause her harm if she used it incorrectly.

And that was just the beginning.

Dad and I had to watch closely to make sure Mom didn’t turn on the range or other appliances. Once I found her using one of Dad’s screwdrivers to open a package of paper table napkins, so the tools were moved to a safer place. We no longer left Mom at home alone, even when she insisted she’d “be fine.” She would sit right where she was, she said, while I drove Dad to the bank or the post office. But I had to say no; Mom had to come with us. She didn’t cry like little John did. She became angry, shouting and waving her arms. We’d wait, ask her later if she’d like to go for a ride, and sometimes she said yes. When she said no, Dad and I postponed our errand.

Out of desperation, sometimes I treated Mom as I had treated my sons when they were children. I often bribed her with ice cream or lunch at her favorite café if she’d go to the doctor with us first. Sometimes I made up stories about the magical powers she would gain by taking the medications she didn’t want to take.

Like Johnny’s mother, I knew I had to take charge. Certainly Mom, and often Dad, too, simply weren’t capable of using good judgment when making choices and decisions. Mom, of course, was impaired by Alzheimer’s.

rabbits eye to eyeDad’s judgment was impaired by his love for Mom.

The no’s to Dad were always hardest. No, it wasn’t a good idea to plan a big party at a restaurant for Mom’s birthday. No, taking Mom camping “one last time” in their bright yellow tent might be fun for him, but not for her. No, I didn’t think it was wise to take a long trip in their travel trailer. No. No. No.

Like Johnny, Dad made promises. He promised to ask people to be quiet at the party. He would gladly pat Mom’s back ‘til she fell asleep in the tent. He was sure she’d love a trip in the trailer, but if she asked to come home, he’d bring her home, right away. He promised to tell me when he couldn’t see well enough to drive.

normalFrom Dad’s perspective, I’m sure it didn’t seem too much to ask for simple, normal life. How I wanted to give him just that! And I tried. But from my perspective, it was a struggle to maintain whatever modicum of normal we could hold on to.

Of course, Alzheimer’s was the problem. Both Dad and I tried to say no to Alzheimer’s. Neither of us was successful…except in one regard: somehow we managed to say no to the disease stealing all our joy. Specifically, I kept my eyes and ears and heart alert for the occasions when life felt like old times. I made sure Dad noticed on mornings when the three of us sat at breakfast with toast and tea. I rejoiced openly when we arrived home from the store and Dad and I put away groceries with Mom telling us what to put where. I prayed with gratitude as my husband and I watched Gunsmoke with my parents: Mom asking the name of each character, Dad answering her and then offering everyone something to drink.

foxesNormal.

As I held on to as many of the routines as I could, I also held on to my temper. Usually I was able to resist the frustrated tone that tried to creep into my voice; instead, I held on to the respectful attitude I had learned from my parents. There was no question in my mind that each of them deserved my respect as much at this time of their lives as they ever had.

Easy? No. Whoever said, “The hardest thing about everyday life is that it’s every day” spoke truly. And most caregivers recognize the words as an extreme understatement.

But let’s also be sure to recognize the bigger truth of caregiving:
As we work to preserve what we can of the “normal” life of the past, we’re also safeguarding—in the present—something even more precious: our loved ones’ dignity.

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.  “Honor your father and mother,” which is the first commandment with promise: “that it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth.”   (Eph. 6:1-3 NKJV)

Father, help us to be patient with those we care for as You, Father, are patient with us.

Good Morning? Yes!

Morning problems, in my experience, have to do with getting started.

Clean clothes

Food and drink

Medications

Those are Mom’s immediate needs when she gets out of bed. The problems arise when she refuses clean clothes, food and drink, and/or medications. If she refuses one, she will often go on to refuse all three.

Two actions are called for on those days:

1) I have to expect that — sooner or later — Mom will cooperate; and

2) I have to step back if she refuses, wait, and try again later as if it were the first time.

Taking those actions always produces positive results for me.

And yes, both are ACTIONS.

Expecting success has to be more than a thought. It must be a conviction: Mom WILL cooperate and she will probably do it right away. That expectation leads me to act in a certain way. Caregivers soon realize that their own stress and anxiety spills over onto their loved ones, and can complicate a good situation or make a difficult one even harder to resolve. Similarly, our expectation of success translated into calm, assured words and movements can influence our loved ones in a positive way. So foreseeing a good outcome lets me be relaxed. I can smile as I take Mom’s arm and lead her to the bathroom.  If she refuses to cooperate right away, my expectation of eventual success prompts me to take additional actions: I watch for signs she’s ready for help; I stay prepared with clothes at hand, food and drink kept warm or cold, medications close by and ready. And expecting success gives me more patience, more energy to keep trying.

Backing away when Mom refuses to let me help is hard in a lot of ways. When she doesn’t want to get clean and dressed, the threat to her health from lack of hygiene is bad enough. But messes of all kinds can result from Mom not being clean. When she goes without food and drink after having nothing during the night, her physical/mental/emotional condition can decline quickly.  And the need to take medication on at least a fairly regular schedule is critically important. So backing away when Mom says “No!” is very hard to do. But what is the choice? I never use my physical strength to get Mom to do something unless she’s in immediate danger. I can clean the messes later. And if I become concerned that lack of food, drink, or medication has gone on too long, I can call the doctor for help and advice. So I back away.

And wait. But again — this is an active waiting. I watch for a change in Mom’s expression, a look in my direction, restless movement, maybe shuffling her feet. I listen for a word, a sound. Those can be signals that Mom’s “in a different place” and might feel more agreeable. The more important point is that I let some time pass, usually just a few minutes.

Then, even if I see no outward indication of any change,  I try again. Maybe I use different words. Maybe I approach the task differently. Or maybe I do things exactly the same way as last time. And maybe Mom will say yes this time, maybe not. But my actions and attitude are based on my absolute conviction that she will cooperate. Probably soon.

Finally, when I try again, I make sure to do it as though this is the first time today we’ve started this activity. I say nothing about Mom having refused earlier. I make no mention of time or being late. We’re simply doing what we do every day: getting dressed and eating and taking medications.

These actions work for me on every difficult morning. Of course they also apply to other situations at other times of day, but mornings are special, especially for caregivers. Our loved ones likely won’t remember in the afternoon or evening whether their morning went smoothly or not. But beginning the day well is a real boost for us caregivers.

Father, You have promised that when I call, You will hear and answer. I experience the truth of that promise daily.Thank You for allowing me to trust You completely.

In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly  (Psalm 5:3  NIV).