My dad has always been interested in-and truly passionate about- politics. All his life, he's liked to read and talk about politics. And he's always liked to watch anything political on TV. When I was growing up, we'd go to rallies, meetings and more meetings, not exactly favorite activities for a teenage girl.
My Dad cracks me up. Even before his dementia set in, he was a very funny man. Looking back through photos of my Dad, I note that he's laughing, has a wry grin or is posing in a completely inappropriate manner. As a child, for various reasons, I did not see this side of him. But now that our roles and titles are somewhat blurred, I get a peek at the guy inside.
My Dad cracks me up. Even before his dementia set in, he was a very funny man. Looking back through photos of my Dad, I note that he's laughing, has a wry grin or is posing in a completely inappropriate manner. As a child, for various reasons, I did not see this side of him. But now that our roles and titles are somewhat blurred, I geta peek at the guy inside.
My Dad cracks me up. Evenbefore his dementia set in, he was a very funny man. Looking back throughphotos of my Dad, I note that he's laughing, has a wry grin or is posing in acompletely inappropriate manner. As a child, for various reasons, I did not seethis side of him.
A lot of people who know caregivers would consider what we do to be an Olympian feat. But, if we caregivers were to organize our own Olympic Games, what would they look like?
The Marathon
There is no pure science to caregiving. It's more of a go-with-your-gut, hope-for-the-best thing. Which isn't to say we needn't educate ourselves or develop skills to make life easier and better for both ourselves and the loved ones in our care. But which skills help us succeed? Which help transform caregiving from what we do to who we are?
Ever wonder what the future holds? I just did. It had nothing to do with my health and well-being, not even that of my mother or older brother. It had to do with my daughter.
On Sunday, everyone got ready to go. From the biggest to the littlest, oldest to youngest, everyone was showered, shaved and spit-shined. We were going out on the town.
I just recently admitted to myself how I categorize and characterize people by their life-roles. The doctor is a wise man with all the answers. The minister is calm and patient. The child is questioning and pushes his or her parents to their limits. The parent is old, mature and somber.
In my “other life,” I work in Human Resources. I love the work and I love the interaction with co-workers and the employees I serve. I love meeting people, welcoming them to our company, and seeing my work as having value. And, of course, there’s the always-needed financial compensation. Recently, though, I was struck by my career’s path.
Last night Dad came to me with a very somber expression on his face. I asked if everything was okay and if there was something he needed. What he said was not what I expected to hear.
Dad: I need to get some of my messages.
Debbie: Okay, Dad, I can work on that. Which ones do you need?
I had a weird reaction driving to work today. The morning sun put a crisp spin on trees and the occasional lush meadow. All the houses I passed looked inviting, as though their windows had just been cleaned and their curtains washed. No one pulled out in front of me from a side street; no delivery truck slowed me down.
As children, our independence is limited and seemingly granted at the whim of our parents. When adolescence hits, it seems the real fun begins; we struggle for a separate identity from that of our parents and demonstrate out need to push the envelope, learning our limits in a sometimes painful way.
My daughter has applied for a job with the federal government and is, therefore, undergoing a background investigation for a security clearance. Putting aside the whole idea that my baby is old enough for a “real job,” I’m getting calls from family and friends as they receive their calls from the investigator.
I fondly remember summer vacations with my parents. As an only child, it would be "just the three of us." Then, as I grew older, it was "the three of us—plus one guest to shut me up." Finally, it came down to "just the two of them."
