I've been in (not so) sunny (damn cold) Boca Raton, Florida since last week, visiting my parents. I came to help, not lounge by the pool. My folks are elderly, but they still live on their own. Which means I stay with them, under their roof, like a kid again.
Except I'm not a kid, and it's very different. Over the years as they've become elderly, whenever we're together something happens. Our roles reverse. I become the wise, nurturing parent. They become helpless children.
If you have older parents, maybe you've experienced this phenomenon. It's more than a little disconcerting to be a comforting, decision-making adult to your needy, often cranky and confused parents.
It's not that I mind. Truly. They've done so much for us over the years, the least we can do is step up, help them cope with their not-so-Wonder-Years, as gracefully as possible.
My parents still try, as best they can. Despite advancing age and increasing infirmities, they manage to stay fairly active. They play bridge, attend concerts, shop, cook light meals, eat at restaurants, go to local parties.
Most important, they take care of each other, especially since they live far from all their children. Believe me, we've tried, but they flatly refuse to move back East. Or even hire full time help. Forget moving to a retirement community. Not. Gonna. Happen.
Top of the Sandwich
Their situation worries us. More and more all the time.
Mom's lost most of her sight, Dad is very nearly deaf. He forgets things, she trips over things. He drives. She answers the phone. She reminds him of appointments and his meds, he tests her blood sugar and reads her the newspaper. On and on and on.
Bright Note: They are still news junkies. Rachel Maddow is their must-see show. (Sorry Joan, Chris Matthews is second).
Okay, you're still thinking about Dad's driving. When he turned 90 and every year since, he's passed both the practical and written Florida drivers test. It's legal for him to drive. Though, god forbid, possibly lethal. (Go ahead, try to take his car keys away).
For years they've had their life down to a well-oiled active routine. It's been an inspiration to see aging gracefully done right. With dignity and self-reliance. Except. Well. It's changing now.
More and more of their time is spent on medical issues. Mom, once such an elegant Grande Dame, is wracked with pain from clots in spine and both legs, must use a walker. It attacks her vanity, her sense of self, of safety.
Dapper, dignified Dad's had both hips replaced but his knees are shot, as is his balance, so he needs a cane to walk upright, not shuffle or trip. At 94, he still resists, complaining, "It makes me look like an old man!" Young at heart, I'll give him that.
But they are clearly declining. They get tired. Lost. Forgetful. Frustrated. Their clothes are stained. Their tempers strained. No matter their determined independence, they're becoming overwhelmed with the burden of caring for themselves and each other.
Middle of the Sandwich
That's where I come in. Over the years they've begun to cede most responsibility over to me. To my siblings too, but I'm the Alpha Caregiver, the family's Home Base. Always have been.
When I'm here I do the driving, shopping, cooking, laundry, even the bills. I consult with their doctors and specialists. Make appointments. Oversee decisions. Pick up prescriptions. Stock the fridge with food, the freezer with cooked dinners.
When I'm not here I do much of it by remote control. When they come back East I have a special apartment for them in our home. I do the same things for them. Happily. This isn't a whine, it's a reality. But now Dad doesn't want to travel so much any more.
They have a lovely cleaning lady, though only for a few hours four days a week. They don't need more, they say. So on her off days, I straighten their bathrooms. Remake the bed. Hang up the clothes. Sweep up the crumbs, M&M's, tissues and multiple effluvia dropped in their wake.
I used to make sure they rested in the afternoon, now they're asleep as soon as we return from even the shortest outing. That's when I catch up on the paperwork Dad's asked me to handle. Or run to the store.
And I ask myself in those alone moments, whose life am I living anyway? How many jobs can I do at once? How many people can I care for? How many times can I jump on a plane at the drop of a hat?
And when did they become so difficult?
They still adore each other, are a true love match. But life is so hard these days, I've got a new responsibility: referee arguments. Have 'private' talks with each one about the other. Soothe hurt feelings.
All in all, I make sure their myriad individual and collective needs are met.
It starts in the morning and doesn't end until we say goodnight around 10 PM. At which time, frankly, I'm exhausted. It's like having little kids again.
The Sandwich Generation
That's it in a nutshell. Just when we Boomers are launching our mostly grown kids into the world and starting to enjoy each other and our empty nests, they fill up again. With our parents, who require even more attention. And diplomacy.
There's a name for those of us dealing with that dual responsibility: The Sandwich Generation. Kids on one side. Parents on the other. Us in the middle.
Believe me, it's no picnic. I used to say, Hey, considering the alternative, I'll just keep swallowing it. Now I'm not so sure.
Reading the Salon article on a daughter's heartbreaking dilemma "Imperfect Ending": When Mom wants to die, I have to ask myself the incredibly difficult question, when is enough enough?
My parents aren't in extremis. Yet. But the quality of their lives is rapidly disintegrating. Too many medical conditions, medications, side effects, 'procedures,' tests, life-threatening possibilities, more strokes, heart attacks, falls, infections.
To live this long --94 and 87 years-- is often to suffer more indignities than pleasures. My mother is beginning to question ... then pulls back, desperate to live. But how well?
Limitations, prohibitions, warnings, restrictions. So much pain. So much fear. So little joy. That's the irony. Once so active, engaged, involved in llife, their greatest joy should be life itself. But it's not.
They're so lucky they still have each other. Children, grandchildren reared, launched, successful, happy. They should find joy in that. They do try, but it's not easy.
Rock Bottom of the Sandwich
Especially now that we're going to lose one, out of the natural order, far too young, much too soon.
That part is the hardest to swallow. My niece, my sister's daughter, our Karen. Who's 47, fighting to reach 48. Her birthday's in May, so she'll get there. We'll pull her there, and as far forward as we can.
I'm Captain of that team too. And she's scared. In pain. Worried about her kids, her husband, her mom. Trying to cram a lifetime into a few short months.
Our parents have lived a lifetime and then some. They're closer to the end than the beginning. They too wake every day fearing it could be their last. They too have a right to complain, to be scared ... don't they?
It hurts my heart, it shames me, but I admit my sympathy isn't as strong as it could be, has been, should be. Right or wrong, Karen's certain fate is so unjust, so unfair I simply can't feel the same sorrow for my parents, who've lived so long and so well.
Karen never will. Mother of Alex,13 (also with cancer) and Amy, 11, wife of Bob, daughter, granddaughter, niece, aunt, sister, friend. Bravely facing the inevitable endgame while only on the cusp of middle age.
She will never see old age, never face life's natural decline. She's got her own gruesome decline, chemo-induced, artificial, horrible. She will never know her grandchildren either. She will not even see her own children grow to adulthood.
She has no future. She has no choice. Our parents do. No, I'm not saying they should make that choice. No, I'm not saying I want them to die.
I guess I'm just saying I want them to grasp their good fortune. Or at least stop complaining, just a little. Smell the roses. Embrace and enjoy the ongoing gift of life. Realize how very, very lucky they are.
Does that make me a bad daughter? A monster? Or maybe just a human being, trying to find balance. Answers. Comfort. I don't know.
There's one small comfort I see. So ridiculous it makes me laugh and cry at the same time. There will be no Sandwich Generation in Karen's life. She will never know, her children will never know, the pain and effort and natural progression of becoming mother to their own elderly mother.
I'd give anything if they could. My sandwich has no taste, provides no sustanence. Just helplessness, anger and pain.
But I have to run now.
Hang on, Dad!.Coming, Mom!
(Patience, Sally. You do love them. Remember to say it).
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Max Rivlin-Nadler
drlaura2
Kristina Lakes
mhold
L in the Southeast
Jane Brogan
Salon.com
Comments
My parents: in their 80's and equally resistant to any of our good ideas to make their lives safer and easier. They had agreed to speak to a geriatric care manager whom I had located, researched, interviewed, etc. Once she got them on the phone, they basically told her to get lost. My mom slipped on the stairs and fell recently and lay there for 20 minutes because she couldn't get up, and then my dad had trouble getting her up - but they're JUST FINE! So much for pre-catastrophe planning.
Yikes. Remember to take care of you in this process Sally. you are as important as everyone else you mentioned in this post.
The only thing in this life that I have an abundance of is love, I give it freely to anyone who could use a little or a lot. This is all I have to give you, that and to try and reassure you that this is indeed the right thing to do and that it is as difficult and frustrating and scary as you see it.
After my dad's death, I did not feel releif. I felt like an orphan, which indeed I was. Adult but orphaned. Cheated. What I want to share is that I did this alone, in my late 30's, with some help from my then husband. At the end of five years of dying along with my folks,something amazing happened and I hope you can hear this. (My devotion to my father wasn't easy. I'd wake up everyday and remember I chose to do this; I had to gear up because none of it was easy for either of us, except the love we always had.)
Though I never saw my parents in dreams, not even in visions, about 8 years after his death, I suddenly went to Jerusalem as if ushered by his invisible hand. Once there my parents and grandparents were all about me. Israel was the family religion. It was not MY Israel they loved. But I always think that all that work to help them had somehow led to one huge reward. Because whatever is wrong with Israel, and to me a great deal is terrible there, I loved the Middle East and believe still that my dad guided me there with an invisible but strong hand. So look for the gifts that will come to you for caring so much and working hard for your parents, for your neice.
The moral is that what we do for our parents as we reverse roles is in fact rewarded, not right away, but in strange unusual ways. I've seen this many times, the long suffering, then the grieving, then the amazing gift. Of course, that's not why you are helping your folks or worried about Karen but I suggest you look for the 'rewards' later, because I'm sure you will get them. (My sister bowed out and she ended up in a less than ideal situation.) Beautiful rendition of what so many are going through and so sorry about Karen. I think I know a little of what you feel because my husband, ex but nonetheless my best friend, is struggling to make it through the year. I respect his life force even as he's deteriorating, more than I can say. rated. Wonderful.
Bellwether, thank you. As Kathy can tell you, all support welcome.
Cartrish, you do know too. Hope you get your own rest.
sixty, it's so frustrating that they won't get more help. I wonder what we'll be like... if we live that long.
Dog, you're so right. At least I learned by watching my parents care for theirs. Our children are learning from --and helping-- us. Pity those whose kids have no clue.
Bob, love is my "key" too. I have my husband and my son. And while it might not have seemed so, there is much love expressed from and to my parents.
WalkAway, knots and then some.
wendyo, you have an amazing story. I wish you would tell it fully on your own blog. More must see and learn from it. We have a lot in common, including Israel. I'm sorry you suffered so much.
"...I admit my sympathy isn't as strong as it could be, has been, should be. Right or wrong, Karen's certain fate is so unjust, so unfair I simply can't feel the same sorrow for my parents, who've lived long and so well."
To me, your feelings and perceptions are natural--your parents' transition is in good time, whereas Karen's is jarringly out of order, as you depict. As much as I grieved my parents' passing, the deaths of younger people in my life--my peers and younger---have been more painful.
We moved to south Florida-- just south of Boca, in fact-- because my partner is an only child, and her remaining parent turned 87 this past Monday. We are dealing with issues similar to those you experience with your parents. It is both frustrating and rewarding.
I hope that you find comfort in many places in the coming months.
And, did you know that article on a mom wanting suicide you refer to on salon was written by Silkstone?
When my father died, upon being awakened by mother with the news that he had passed away during the night, in his sleep, my first reaction was, "Thank God."
He died in his own bed, under his own roof, freshly bathed between clean sheets, with money in the bank, having won life's marathon. He was sliding into deep dementia, finally failing from a half dozen diseases he had fought throughout his life, almost 88 years of age.
You can't ask for a better death.
My mother's story is very different. Having depended upon him for virtually everything all her life, she now depends on me....and I hate it. She went through a long period of time calling me by his name, which angered and upset me greatly, and spent much of the past two years denigrating his memory, wondering why she ever married him in the first place, and why she stayed with him.
There's nothing harder than caring for an ingrate....until you learn not to expect any compensation in this world...or, probably, the next.
Since so many of us here seem to hover in this age group, I wonder if OS isn't something of a lifeline for some very talented people (and some, like myself, who are just pretending to be) to exercise their talents while whittling away at their remaining years, doing mundane things for parents we love, but sometimes don't really like.
The driving issue is very difficult. My father declined rapidly once I took his driving privileges away and toward the end cried every day that he wanted his car back. (He had a spare set of keys to the car, so, deep down, he knew he couldn't drive any more.)
Watch out for peripheral neuropathy. When the brain and the extremities no longer communicate well. You see frequent accidents down here that involve motor issues, stepping on the gas rather than the brake....but these are often the result of the loss of feeling in the feet, which means the driver can't really feel the pedals.
And, no, he shouldn't be driving any more....but you know that. The problem is that in your parents situation, it becomes very difficult down here to manage your life if you can't drive.
ame i, if you teach your daughters by example, they will care for you the way you care for your own parents. At least, that is my experience. I hope it will not be for a long, long time.
Stim, thank you. It's so helpful to hear from 'objective' voices that I am not a horrible person.
Lea, thank you as always. And I didn't know the article was by Silkstone! I am so out of it, I'll write and thank her.
***And why does everybody rate you but not me? (That was my whine for the day. It's my turn. Done now).***
I wish that I could give you some strength to persevere. I can see my own parents approaching this stage, though they live with my youngest brother (and my oldest brother is not very far away) so there is some family support there already.
Drop me a line if there's anything I can give you, doll. You know you and yours are in my thoughts and prayers constantly.
Caroline Myss has mentored me in the mystical acceptance that life has meaning and each person is sacred and there is a reason that Karen is leaving early and your parents get to live almost a century and it's not up to us, but God and lifes mysteries know what they are doing. It's all about faith. We might pretend we can control our lives and the lives of others but that is an illusion.
I almost hate to read posts like yours, because I will be in your place sooner than I like. My parents are still in decent health. My dad is in his mid 70s and still skiing, hiking, backpacking, and fishing. But Alzheimer's runs through his family like a scourge, and I know it's coming.
When he can't ski, when he can't drive, it will be the end. And then I'll have my very dependent and bewildered mom to care for. She will be adrift without dad.
It's so odd for me, with my kids in elementary school, to be looking at assisted living places near me, wondering what it would be like to move my parents out of their house. More like wondering when.
Oh crap. This is coming. Oh crap oh crap.
Bill, as usual I'm so glad you're here. We all have a story.
Clark, thank you for reminding me, I will keep on truckin.
Bonnie, I will nap til I drop!
Deborah, as always the voice of reason. About the absence of reasons.
femme, you so get it. There are traces of the younger selves left, just enough to keep you striving to help them. But they are becoming strangers, even to themselves.
Sparking, thank you. Really.
froggy, I feel for you, but please, plan a little then live a LOT while you can. With them and your own. It'll mean a great deal eventually.
Blue, thank you. And what I just said to froggy applies to you too. Good luck to all, love your families well as long as you can.
But the losing still hurts.
Like many here I too am in the same situation. I am 49 with two kids in high school, my widowed mother is 78. She is still pretty healthy but is confused, lonely, needy and is a very difficult personality and has never driven. I come home from a day with her and say to my self how can I keep this up for 10 or 15 more years?
As we become our parents we can't stop the toll that time takes on us but we can take steps to make the burden lighter for both our selves and our kids. Know that maybe you can't stay in your current home. Be willing to let people help you with out being bitter. Let new people into your life so that your only contact is not just your kids. When you can no long drive be willing to take the senior bus or have groceries delivered. I could on, mainly we need to prepare for the inevitable. It seems that so many of our parents had know idea that life would not just go on as always.
I wish I had an answer to the unintended consequences of our ever increasing life expectancy.
So off I had gone on a mission of mercy for the passive aggressive little dumpling who spawned me lo those many years ago. (Geriatric psychotics do a number on their kids. You get to THAT point and you are like, "You're shitting me? I have to do MORE for this person? Fuck!" But I digress.)
And, at the same time, my late in life daughter was also in diapers.
So there I am in the check out line with a bulk pack of pampers under one arm a bulk pack of depends under the other while staring blankly off into space thinking about how much my life really sucks ass at that point in time.
And then I just started to giggle. Then it went into a full laugh with tears in my eyes.
The teenaged check out girl had a fearful look in her eyes as she readied the microphone to call a manager. She wouldn't need to, the manager wandered over on his own.
All I could do was look at them, wiggle these massive plastic-wrapped bundles of diapers and say, "So this is what they call the sandwich years."
Nobody EVER laughs at this, yet I still find it amusing.
I guess you had to be there, and hopefully nobody ever has to go there, I guess.
Delia, I agree with you and thank you for your kind thoughts. We see our lost ones every day in our hearts and someday in our souls.
Deborah, was that you looking at me funny as I was screaming in the car? Really, I talk to myself out loud when alone, it does relieve the stress build-up. Maybe you'll be lucky... as long as old people stay healthy, it's much easier. Only the past two years have gotten bad. And really, I feel for their pain more than mine.
boysofsummer, you give wise advice, in my family each generation has vowed to be adult about aging... until they age. Then they fight it tooth and nail, complaining all the way. My sisters and I have a "shoot me" pact. We'll see.
Geoff, I so get it and I was laughing along with your description. Really, the cliche is true, you either laugh or cry and laughing is better. Thanks for the kind words.
Cindy Lou, I thank you, I miss you, I love you. Hope you're taking care of you.