Confessions of a Caregiver

I thought when Dad first arrived that this could be a precious time where father and daughter might open up to each other and share honest truths. After all, plenty of well-meaning friends have said, “Cherish this time, Debbie.” These well-meaning friends have never been in my shoes, I guarantee it.** With all that said, I am a realist and I know my father pretty well. He has never been a great communicator. He tells stories. The same stories over and over. Stories are valuable and so I (try to) listen.

I wonder what it might be like to be 86 years old myself and have some ‘young un’ sitting there (pretending to be) listening to my stories, which reminds me that I sometimes repeat

Dad View
Dad doing what Dad does best these days

myself too. And it actually feels good to tell those stories, repeatedly. So I muster up some patience and try to be understanding. Who am I kidding? I’m very impatient with him, most days, but I try very hard not to let it show. Lucky for me he’s nearly deaf so I can mutter to myself as I walk away without him hearing me.

Dad has cancer, but he’s not exactly terminal. He has special needs and requires a certain level of care from me. However, he doesn’t want me to help him. He wants to be the big strong Dad that he’s always been for me. He wants to help me. So, when I ask him important questions about his health – how he is feeling, for example, he answers with, “Pretty good” or “Fine.” Then two days later he will tell me that he’s no longer feeling pain in his hips. However, he never mentioned the pain. This is his way of pretending, or being in denial, that there is a problem.

My first reaction is helpless frustration. Then I remember that this keystone of his personality (practicing denial) can play an important role as a survival mechanism that seems to work for him. So I invite Denial in. It occurs to me that I cannot prevent him from falling by simply staring at him as he walks away to another part of the house. Oh, the luxury of having Denial as your friend . . . Practicing the art of denial can provide a Zen experience, I suppose. Ok, I’m exaggerating; I’m the realist in the family, remember? So I watch, wait, and listen, 24/7.

**There are no right words in situations like this. Most of these friends have lost a parent and likely have feelings of guilt about how they wish they could have done more – no matter what the situation was. I know this because I have these feelings now, knowing I should be sitting with him more, rubbing his back more, holding his hand more, cherishing the moment more. I’m lucky that I run a business from home so that I can keep him in my home with me. But I also consider that the hardest part on most days. It’s absolutely like having two full time jobs. And neither one allows for a sick day, a vacation day, or a holiday off. The best words I have heard from a friend? “You’re DOING it, Debbie” and “You GOT this.” And I guess it’s true.

One thought on “Confessions of a Caregiver

  1. Deb – Enjoyed your blog and so many days felt the same when I was primary care-taker for my Aunt. She has been gone about 6 years now, but I can still close my eyes and recall many of our “visits” even though we were in the same house. Feeling “Fine” or “Pretty Good” would have been great responses on end, instead I got interesting comparisons like,,,, “I feel like a washcloth”. Not sure how a washcloth feels, but I am guessing it meant she wasn’t feeling well. LOL ! Take deep breaths, go outside and take in the fresh air, keep some photos nearby that always bring smiles or great memories and you will get through this and so will your Dad. You are truly earning your wings and the blessings you will receive in return will never be taken away. Your Dad and family are very luck to have you! Take care. Mary S.

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