Learning how to care for my aging
mother, while still nurturing myself
by Lee Woodruff, AARP,
July 29, 2019
En español | For the past three summers,
my mother has lived with my family in our Adirondack cottage, surrounded by her
three daughters and nine grandchildren. It’s the place where I grew up every
summer, with a free-range childhood that resonates with those of us called home
by a dinner bell, long before cell phones and GPS trackers. We explored trails
for hours, canoed, swam and practiced diving off the raft as we tanned on
bleached docks, baby-oil-slicked and lemon juice in our hair.
My children are the fifth generation to return
to this little bay on a lake with their cousins in their own nearby cottages.
The jewel in the family crown was my parents’ house, a 100-year-old, bark-sided
beauty with a giant stone fireplace from a different era. But at 84, widowed
and slowing down, the last straw for my mother was an errant bat in the bedroom
at midnight. The next day she announced that she no longer felt up to living
there alone. And so she moved in with us.
My mother embodies the term “sweet lady.” She
is an avid reader, a great conversationalist, is still able-bodied and values
her independence above all. She is happy to be observing the loud, loving and
colorful world of her grandchildren as they orbit the house, and is determined
not to be an inconvenience to anyone.
And yet — living with my mother, having her
under my roof and becoming her caregiver, was a giant adjustment. I was
unprepared for the accommodation in my headspace, the way a third eye suddenly
bloomed to track and anticipate her needs, to worry about her well-being and
whereabouts. This seems silly to acknowledge as someone who has raised four
children while working and running a household. What could be so difficult
about adding another adult to the home for a six-week period? But it was.
Looking back, last summer had been harder than
I’d wanted to admit. I’d limped up to the mountains at the end of June after a
brutal year of work travel, welcomed my mother to the guest room, physically
moved houses at home, celebrated 30 years of marriage and sent twin daughters
off to their first year in college as I faced the empty nest. By September,
mentally exhausted, I slipped into a low-level depression.
What was wrong with me? Why was I so grumpy
and resentful? My mother had selflessly sacrificed her life to raise three
girls, cheering from the sidelines at every chapter of our lives. Why was
I unable to repeatedly and joyfully return the love in the twilight years of
her life?
It eventually dawned on me that I hadn’t let
myself relax all summer. Every small moment I could have used to hear myself
think, there was my sweet mother. She had a question about the dishwasher,
needed help locating the table settings, had burned a pan cooking rice, wanted
to remind me of her food allergies or the constitution of her bowels. I worked
to keep my tone even as I sat with her night after night, watching historical
fiction shows on PBS and Netflix, cue the gratuitous sex scenes.
I boxed myself out of dinner invitations and
dates for drinks with friends; declined nighttime boat rides or a chance to see
the July 4th fireworks. I’d play the martyr. This was my mother, after all, and
she was in my home. I never wanted her to feel like an inconvenience.
For those of us who’ve raised kids and
envisioned kicking back in the summer sand but instead find ourselves managing
aging parents, these are very human and familiar feelings. Giving in to
them, owning the moments of being overwhelmed or feeling exasperated at
explaining how the microwave worked one more time was the escape valve I
needed. Discussing them with friends and my sisters, working out a plan for
some “nights off,” and acknowledging that there is no sainthood here on earth
helped immensely. “What you’re doing is hard,” one of my friends said. “But
you’re modeling something for your own children about love and devotion.”
“I wish my mother was still around so I could
get grumpy at her,” another friend opined. That sobering statement helped me
forge a mantra that I use in the caregiving moments when I feel exasperated. I
don’t “have” to have my mother live with me. I “get” to have my mother stay
with me.
Still, I am determined to approach this year’s
vacation differently. The trick is to figure out how I can give my mother a
wonderful summer while nurturing and recharging myself. To get some insight, I
reached out to a friend, Colleen Whitt Bell, who has spent 30 years as a
palliative care and hospice nurse.
“Most caregivers have a high ‘helper
tolerance,’ but when small things start to seem large and bothersome, that’s
the first sign you might need outside assistance,” explains Bell. “Inability to
sleep, short temper, difficulty concentrating or feeling overwhelmed are also
signs.” To help manage the stress, Bell advises to keep these tips in mind:
·
A little physical
exercise each day can change your outlook and fatigue level.
·
You can “trade time”
with a friend. Ask them if they are willing to come sit or be with your loved
one and if you can get out and run some errands for them, or pay the favor back
another way to take a breather. Even though caregivers don’t like to ask for
help, just a few hours can be a giant battery recharge.
·
Make sure to
look into local resources or investigate the local aging groups and agencies
for their options — or even “day club/care” drop-offs — to find a few hours for
yourself.
·
Focus on one
“mini-treat” you enjoy in your day, whether it’s a cup of coffee in the morning
or a puzzle you can work on even for 30 minutes to establish your own bracket
of time for yourself.
My mother will not always be in my kitchen, I
remind myself. None of us knows how many more nights she will be able to gather
here at the lip of this gorgeous lake with the ones she loves. And I will miss
that mighty hug. I will miss her wide smile and the pure joy that radiates from
her tiny, bird-boned body as she wraps her arms around me with the full force
of a mother’s love.
So, caregiver friends, tell me: What do you do to nurture yourself while
caring for others?
Lee Woodruff is a caregiver, speaker and the
author of three books, including the best-seller, In an Instant. She and her husband, Bob,
are cofounders of the Bob Woodruff Foundation,
which assists injured service members and their families. Follow her on
Twitter @LeeMWoodruff and Instagram @leewoodruff.
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