Thoughts on a friend in the Sandwich
I’m watching a friend go through the emotions, and, logistics of having to put her father in a nursing home. As hard as it is, it’s time as her mother’s health is being jeopardized by having him at home.
It’s tough, I can see what she’s thinking, and, there’s nothing I can do. Well, don’t misunderstand, I don’t know exactly what she’s going through, but, it is awfully familiar.
Even though he’s been sick for a while, they are about to add a different stress level in having to structure their days around the drive over, and, visiting, etc., and, like me, she had young children, and, works full time.
The hardest part for me was what it symbolized when my mother had to go to both the nursing home and the hospice. It’s a concrete manifestation of the beginning of the end of life.
Even though the patient might have been just as ill at home, something about them getting in a bed in a facility such as that changes everything. By design, they let go, and, become more dependent, and, you just have to face some things you may have been putting off.
On top of that, when it’s your parent, no matter how old you are, it’s just scary.
I want to tell her it will be OK, because it really will. That doesn’t mean it won’t be hard, and, I certainly don’t wish this phase of having to think about it continuously on anyone, because those feelings are still fresh to me.
However, I’ve also learned that the death of a parent is just something you have to go through at one time or another, and, there’s lots of people waiting for you on the other side.
Even though my circumstances are different, this speaks to me. Thank you for your comforting words.
This is one of those subjects that we love to keep in the uncomfortable closet (metaphorically speaking). It is good that you are bringing this into the conversation.
My mother died on St. Patrick’s Day in 1999. At that time I worked for a professional assocition, and I was staffing the annual meeting banquet when the call came in that Mom had passed away.
It was amazing how the busy confusion of the banquet stopped registering with me. I pretty much shifted to autopilot, because I had been waiting, almost expecting, this phone call for five or six months.
I told my boss what had happened, and I got in my car and drove to the nursing home where Mom had spent her last seven months and where my wife Marge was waiting for me.
Mom didn’t look much different from the last time I had seen her, except that she was so still. Grief welled up in part of me, but I was also aware that I could put down the terrible responsibility Marge and I had borne for five years.
We wept because Mom was dead, but we also wept in exhaustion and relief. With Mom’s passing, our own lives had just been handed back to us.
Being a caregiver for a parent is an emotional rollercoaster right down to the final hour.