My story started two years ago when my parents came out to see the house I was building and hoping to sell. They had just moved into an assisted living complex after being in an apartment for a couple of years. Both of these moves were under coercion, and came too late for my Mom. This is when I noticed that they shared a sensibility with teenagers, in that they acted like they knew what they were doing, but knew they didn’t. This false independence thing is a desperate time, hence “teenagers in reverse.” My sister had been the prime helper, and she took an emotional beating. Nobody likes to be told what to do! She was also very angry at me because I lived about a 10-hour drive away. So we were having fun.
When my parents came out to visit, I was gifted with a plan by working with our “needs.” My Mom needed 24-hour care, my Dad needed help looking after her, we needed money to help through the time of not being able to sell our house (because America needed to take its economy to the toilet and we Canadians just tagged along). Because my wife, Mary, is a nurse and I only worked two days a week, having finished the house and thereby I had lots of time and welcomed a new vocation; it worked as a doable plan. My 18-year-old son who thought he was a prince, being the only child, needed a new position, bottom of the food chain. The climate in our home was a bit stormy so I figured a change of the cast and locale could help us all. I got my Mom by herself and gave her the plan and said, “You decide.” She had the most at stake, and giving her the choice was the center pin of the whole deal. She said “Yes.”
My sister was shocked by the idea of our parents moving out to our place and felt blind-sided by it. She was also chagrined with the idea that our parents would be paying me what they had paid for the assisted living place. This was another center pin, because they were paying their way, and I was unable to become the full-time caregiver without my folks providing some income. My Dad was angry being moved for the third time in about five years.
When they arrived my Mom was thrilled because the fear of going to a nursing home and being alone was removed. My Dad complained every morning for a week until my Mom quietly leaned over and suggested, “Go back then!” From then on, he was great, just another guy on the team needing to look after Mom. Now I gave my speech. I began with the concept that I had always been the least bossy one in my family, but by the nature of the reality at hand, it was imperative that I become the go-to guy. I was the guy on duty day and night so I would know how they were doing. I presented the idea that their main job was, instead of hiding what they couldn’t do, was to tell me so I could help.
My Mom and I had to handle the freaky idea that I needed to help her dress and the bathroom deal; incredible realignment, but critical to her being able to stay. Also they had become fearful, what with the loss of control, so we had to get a bit of teasing back in the deal or I wouldn’t be able to survive. Once they accepted the challenges, we entered the best time of my life.
The fact that my mom, Hope, is the best person I have ever met, didn’t hurt. I told them they were both so damn cute, and it made it way easier. I thus formulated the concept that being cute at every stage of the game upped your chances of being the last one thrown overboard. I called them “my kids,” and they liked it because it was kind of true and again it released them from the need to do things. It was my gain not their loss. I got to help. It was never my responsibility to keep them alive, it was to give us all a good time. I found that some professional care-givers took on more than their share of the tragedy of getting old and dying. In fact most people acted like it was so sad to be nearing the abyss, poor them. This is where I realize that having been taught to do readings for the departed, it was not such an angst-ridden thing after all, especially compared to living.
My Mom lasted just under a year with us and then she went into a sweet little hospital in Nelson, B.C. I stayed with her the last two nights of her life. The morning she died, I had just gone out for a coffee and a nice warm croissant. I was just biting down when she opened her eyes and saw my prize. She loved good food and her eyes just bore right through me. I begged, “Mom, you know I’m a diabetic and can’t share my food!” This time her eyes called me “You little prick,” and that was our last moment. A couple of hours later, I began readings while Mary protected me from the hospital stuff. It took about an hour and it was easily the most important thing I have ever done; just a great try to help my Mom. The ABD readings continued at dawn and dusk for 49 days.
It was never sad for me because she had a great run, but pain ain’t pretty. My Dad has been great too, I think because he helped so much that there was no “I wish I would’ve.”
Throughout the whole thing Mary was there for the medical intervention and was an angel. I told her that I was dying too, so lay some angel on me. Sandy, the young prince, has learned the joy of helping the most needy one at the table.
My suggestion for anybody in the same situation is to struggle to find a way to fit them in your life and then things will arrange in an essential way. Under the same roof is easier, and remember, no martyrdom. Things will arrange. Bless you for asking me to do this. It has helped me remember. (JD)
