Emily Post Can't Help Us With This One; We Need to Help Each Other
When my kids were small, I lived 15 minutes away from my parents. So, for seven years, we saw each other almost every day. In their seventies, my parents were still social and traveled a lot. We spent a lot of time, for better or worse, going through the motions of family togetherness even if a lot of that time was filled with arguments, unsolicited advice, and expression of less-than-appropriate opinions about the world at large. My two sisters and I divided and conquered their care then, which was mostly emotional at that point as their health was not holding them back just yet.
In their seventies, the effects of what happens when you don’t exercise, when you eat like crap, and when you live your life in a seated position most of the time were not yet a huge problem. My parents were both oxes - my dad was built like an ox and shocked us routinely with the way he kept on ticking, despite his lifestyle. And my mother had the will of an ox. Her pulmonologist later told me he was surprised she got around as well as she did given her poor lung function. My mom learned the importance of exercise a bit too late and my dad scoffed at the notion of self-care, wellness, or disease prevention.
I witnessed subtle changes in them up close. I saw their faculties slip, bit by bit. They began losing interest in things, grew more insular and less curious to learning something new and more interested in confirming what they already believed. My parents argued all my life and it didn’t settle down as they aged. I loved them but I also sort of couldn’t stand them. There were a lot of great things about my parents but spending so much time with them in their day-to-day life showed me they had plenty of less desirable traits, too. They were funny and independent in many ways but easy to be around? Not so much.
After those seven years, I knew that for my mental health I needed a little distance from them. And by little, I mean 2000 miles away. I think they were mad at me for moving and I understand that. They felt like I abandoned them when they would need me most. When I came home to visit, the changes you’d hardly notice if you were there all the time became huge and glaring. They seemed to age exponentially in the months between my visits. Because of their poor health it was expected, sure, but no less shocking. Their anxiety about aging and living as an older person grew, though they would never admit it. Their mutual vitriol was honestly impressive. Their constant digs were draining. My dad, who had always cursed like a sailor, had lost even more decorum. I am not easily offended by bad language, but my jaw did actually drop the first time I heard my dad call my mother a c*nt. And my mom would never. stop. talking (usually about how great she was). It was exhausting, and I was surprised to find I had less tolerance for their behavior than I did when I saw them all the time. I guess I liked my less stressful life away from them and going back felt like regression.
It feels disrespectful and mean to say that I didn’t like being around my parents as they aged. It feels ageist and dismissive. Nobody talks about this part. The internet and social media is all about celebrating aging and the wisdom that comes with it- the gift and blessing that caregiving is. I feel like though any advice about the hard stuff is great, much of it would be really hard to put into practice with difficult seniors. Where is the Emily Post book about how to intervene when your dad calls your mom a c*nt in front of your kids? What are you supposed to say when your mother-in-law walks in the room casually holding dog poop in her bare hands because her dementia doesn’t let her recognize it for what it is? How should you handle it if your parents use racist slurs with their caregivers? That’s the advice we really need.
I take care of people for a living and feel like I have sympathy in spades but I could barely muster any for my own parents. Could I only be nice if paid to do so? Or is it just that taking care of the elderly is hard enough, but when you add in a layer of unresolved familial resentments and hurts it’s near impossible.
I don’t have much patience - this I inherited from my dad. I remember giving myself pep talks before I spent time with them. Maybe 70% of the time I could hold my tongue or successfully walk away before I blew it. Maybe. Many a phone call was made on my drive home to apologize to my sisters because “I lost it with mom”. She would now have to do damage control. My time with my parents was meant to bring them some happiness and give my sisters a break and I often blew it. My siblings blew it also, but my guilty conscience makes me think I lost it more than they did.
My parents are both gone now, so I have plenty of time to reflect on my choices, and on the things that didn’t really feel like choices at the time. Because I was a late-in-life baby for them, I was the first of my friends to go through it, so now I get to give them some advice as they go through the challenges I’ve already faced. I leap at the chance to talk with other people’s parents because I remember how grateful I felt when someone else carried the torch for a bit. I also recall how my parents could put on a good show for others and it was nice to see them at their best. But sometimes, all I can say is, “Oh shit. That happened to us and it was terrible.” But at least they know they’re not crazy or the only one experiencing this.
What I tell my friends is what I wish I had known while I was dealing with my parents: there is no perfect formula for getting through this imperfect situation. You can read about how to reason with an elderly person and their challenging behavior all you want, but in the end the only thing you can really control is how you view it. There is no blueprint for responding because sometimes even the right thing to say doesn’t always work. What really needs to change is how we think that caring for the elderly has to be seen in one way. Caring for challenging parents needs a different narrative.
I view it as this: we all are doing the best we can. You, as the adult child caregiver, and even your parents, the older folks who are losing control over their own lives and the ability to take that lying down. In short, it’s a really hard time for everyone.
You’ll find tips and tricks to make a hard situation work, although you will also go through a lot of trials. Sometimes you and your siblings will be able to work together on this arduous task of caring for your parents, and sometimes you will decidedly not.
When my parents passed away, and after the smoke cleared on the whole experience, I knew that I wanted to help people through this challenging phase of life, and share the support, advice, and reassurance that I wish I had when it was my turn. There is so much that I know now that I wished I knew then. So Surviving Seniors was born. We thought, what our friends and family do for each other, we can expand that. Thanks to the internet, we’re not bound by time or geography. And we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are plenty of people out there who are thinking: am I a bad person for not thinking this experience is a beautiful one? The answer, my friends, is no. You are not.
Everyone experiences this phase of life, which is inevitable for anyone who has parents growing old, in their own way. And we’re here for it, no matter what it looks like to you. How are you coping? What support do you need? Or maybe you are in a place where you have no idea what to even do. Browse the blog, join us on Facebook and Instagram, read the blogs we’ve written on a whole bunch of topics and reach out to us! Ask us questions, and share your stories. We want to help.
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