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."

“Do no harm." Maybe because my mom was a nurse, this phrase from the physicians’ oath was a living presence in our family.

I understand it as a parent: Give your kids as little fodder for the analyst’s couch as possible.

I understand it as an employee: If you choose not to heed these words, you lose your job.

My mom made most of the decisions about her care right up to the end. I’d say she was a control freak, but that might seem harsh. Let’s say she enjoyed exercising her right to choose her own path and destiny. Doesn’t that sound better?

As I talk to caregivers, legislators, even the lady behind me at the grocery store, I find everyone has a different vision of what constitutes respite, which I see very simply as time off for the caregiver. While that definition is relatively simple, clear and near universal, how the time is used, or how some think it should be used, is a fluid concept.

Over this past Mother’s Day, I got nostalgic about my mom. Oh, not the sad stuff, but the positive energy that made her who she was. That streak of bad girl in me that I so know came from her and continues on in my own daughter. So, as the current “Dowager Mother,” I used my power for a little respite, a time for me to sit on the deck, feel the sun, relax and think about my mom.

Respite care—also known as what allows caregivers to get some “me” time—is vital to both one’s mental and physical well-being. Someone comes into your life and home with the skills and training to care for your loved one while you have time off for good behavior. Sounds like a luxury, doesn’t it?

Spring has sprung here in Alaska (don't be fooled by last Friday's 12 inches of snow). Winter in Alaska can be marvelous. But, as you've likely heard, we do have snow, cold and only a few hours of daylight. The darkness can be tough on your psyche, as you awaken in the dark, go to work in the dark, and then get off work in the dark—for months.

As Dad's dementia progresses, with an increase in speech difficulties and a decrease in short-term memory, I find I more and more miss his sense of humor. My dad, you see, is and always will be one of the funniest people I will know. His sense of humor ran from slapstick to wry and droll, and was highlighted by his ability to verbally spar. Here's what I mean...

Crisis averted!

During the process of caring for my dad, I forgot one important thing. I have gotten so wrapped up and wrapped around the bend, that the basic reason I am doing this got lost in the shuffle. Well, let me try to explain...

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a recent conversation with a wonderful friend and fellow caregiver. While our specific caregiving situations are dissimilar, our experience follows the same path.

Happy New Year!

I had an interesting conversation yesterday. I was on the phone with my best friend, Tina, who I've known for over 20 years. We've been together through illness, marriage, job changes, death, children...and everything else life has to offer. I love her dearly, as she does me. However, with her being probably the only person to have the courage to ask, I found myself in the position of having to explain to her why I choose to care for Dad at home.

For a period of time before my husband, kids and I moved in with my father to take care of him fulltime, I was a ‘long distance' caregiver. And, to be quite honest, I don't think I was very good at it.

What a great holiday Thanksgiving is. We cook, we eat, we unbuckle our pants, watch TV and sleep.... Only in America! No matter how you celebrated it, I hope Thanksgiving was good for you.

The holidays have become bittersweet for me. I miss the big family gatherings with all their hustle and bustle. I am even often tempted to skip celebrating—I heard that gasp of horror! But, yes, I have been tempted to abandon the season.

While watching a movie the other night, I couldn't help but notice that the main character kept reciting the "Serenity Prayer" to calm himself. I started thinking about how often I hear myself saying this mantra during all aspects of my life—entertainment, religion, child rearing (more like, "Give me patience!"), marriage (amen) and, of course, caregiving. It's so easy to get caught up in the physical, mental and emotional aspects of caregiving that it's easy to lose focus. I am speaking from personal experience here. But, by going back to those basic tenets that I hold dear, I can circle back to why I am doing what I do. So, loosely quoted and with my thoughts intertwined, let us begin...

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...

• I have to accept that Dad does not wish to be forgetful; he does not want to leave the ice cream in the refrigerator so that it melts and runs everywhere. (Can you tell what happened last night?)

 

To be honest, I've been feeling a little stressed lately. But stress can be a pretty sneaky thing. There you are, going through life, thinking you have it all under control, and bam! The trick is to learn the warning signs and circumvent in the inevitable.