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I am a Caregiver
By Beverly Hughes
Senior Scribe
http://www.darkecountyseniors.us/
I started by spending a summer week with mom just after dad died, so
she wouldn’t be alone. Soon she went back to her friend’s
luncheons and evening card games. Good! I thought.
That’s that! When I visited unexpectedly one evening, she was
dressed in dad’s pajamas, curled up in his Lazy Boy, sobbing
hysterically. Oh, great! I thought. What now?
She assured me that was a one-time event and “according to my
booklets about grief, I will occasionally have waves of sadness… blah,
blah.” Mom was always such a reader, more articulate than anyone
in our family, so we rarely fretted about her.
“She is strong,” we said.
At Thanksgiving dinner, Mom complained about the difficulty of bending
so low to clean the toilets and corners of the floors in her
apartment. I offered to do a complete cleaning for her before her
Christmas company came, but by Spring, I noticed her bathrooms and
floors yellowing again. I needed to check on her more often.
“Do you have time for us to have a coffee date at your table each
Wednesday after work?” I asked? I told her I would give her apartment a
weekly “slick and a promise so you don’t hurt your back bending over
the toilets.” She grimaced and said she needed the exercise, but
I could come for coffee. Weekly, I cleaned.
Soon her friends called to say she was coming late to everything “and
she drove off the driveway and over my curb twice! Can you fix
her?” I asked Mom to take me on an Easter shopping trip and, sure
enough, she slid through stop signs and sideswiped a parking
meter. Then, she was furious with me for suggesting she take a
driving test or talk to her doctor about her driving. I cried
myself to sleep.
Memorial Day. Mom stayed all day at the cemetery. At dusk,
she called to say she lost her keys at the cemetery and couldn’t drive
home. When I arrived, her keys were tucked deep into her purse
slung over her shoulder. She thought her purse was stolen at the
cemetery and she was crying.
By the family’s Annual Fireworks Party, cousins asked why Mom was so
thin and siblings were irritated that I had taken her driver’s license
away. Mom was reading to the grandchildren and they were
correcting her words. I was her defender, protector, scolder,
shoulder. I was her chauffer, her nursemaid, her parent, her
friend. I was exhausted.
The next year I moved in with mom and quit my job. I was now
spoon-feeding her and arguing with her about taking her medicines.
“I want a second opinion! Prevention Magazine says… blah, blah,
blah.” Her friends came to visit at first. At first.
At first, I was eating all Mom’s leftover food – she ate like a bird
and I couldn’t waste… I gained weight… didn’t work it off… sat around…
tried to stay quiet for Mom’s frequent naps.
Now, my only social outing is to the various doctor’s offices and the
grocer’s. We have no visitors. I miss my own family.
I miss assignments, business meetings and appointments. I miss my
church. I even miss Mom’s old friends, but she doesn’t miss
anyone. I am her world and she is mine.
I don’t feel like eating. I nibble. We waste
food. I’m losing weight. So is Mom. I’m so sad
for her. Yet, I’m so glad to be here for her.
But, I don’t ever want to be her. Who am
I? I am a caregiver.
Call State of the Heart Hospice for information about Caregiver Support
Groups. 548.2999. Ask for Brittany.
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