KID'S STUFF
A caregiver's children learn the rules of engagement
BY:DEBBIE NEWSHAM
I like to pretend that I chose to be a caregiver. But I've wondered how making this "choice" would affect my kids. Was I throwing them under the proverbial bus or would this be a life-changing period that would allow each to become a caring, empathetic adult? But over the last 10 years, here's what I've seen:
I was concerned that the visible signs of illness would intimidate the kids.
Three distinct personalities-with distinctresponses-surfaced:
Jennifer, now 19 and a future engineer, studied each item-from walker and wheelchair to bedside commode-before testing it with gusto.
Buster, 18, who puts more energy into finding ways out of doing something than would be required to complete the chore, would look at it, shrug, and start thinking why he'd be the wrong person to help.
Michael, 12, no matter the equipment, would immediately offer to help.
My being repulsed by others' regurgitating had me concerned how my kids would handle down-and-dirty caregiving. Again, their reactions were unique:
Jennifer would hear the telltale sound and comerunning with a cup of water for rinsing, a cool towel as a compress.
Buster viewed it as something cool, especially after witnessing my mom lose it while driving. Her ability to hit the bag while controlling the car made her the greatest multi-tasker in the world; he couldn't wait to tell his friends.
Michael, with his gift of gab, would be right inthere, chatting about color, texture and asking questions like, "What did you eat to make that color combination?"
I really worried about transplanting the kids when we moved into my parents' home.
Jennifer took it the hardest. Her old room was a young woman's fantasy, huge, with a window seat, loft bed, and walk-in closet. Her new room was tiny and cramped; she cried for days.
Buster chose the old "office" as his room; it was where he and his grandmother had played games during visits.
Michael moved into the dining room, since we were out of actual bedrooms. Even with a chandelier and constant traffic, he seemed thrilled just to have a room he didn't have to share with his brother.
I worried that I was stealing their childhood bymoving in with my folks. I kept remembering my father's telling me, when I was pregnant with Michael, not to turn Jennifer into a built-in babysitter.
Jennifer took the weight off me by driving herself to her old high school 40 minutes away, having to be there at 6:30 a.m., and getting straight A's in AP courses.
Buster would help when forced. At first, if I needed him to hang out with Dad while I went shopping, he'd think "being in the same house was enough." He learned, as did we all, that more attention was needed.
Michael, with his pre-adolescent view, loved to help, especially when it came to enforcing rules. It was kind of funny to have Michael lay down the law to dementia-addled Dad, interacting as a peer until Dad would call for the "Great Mediator" (me).
Looking back at our years as a family of caregivers, I see my children have learned to be stronger and kinder. My kids and I have disagreed on methodology, but the outcome is unanimous: we are loved and we love.
Read Debbie Newsham's other thoughts on caregiving on her blog, "My So-Called (Caregiver) Life."