It is now three years into my caregiver life and I have come to hate the role. However, it is necessary and it fulfills a promise made to myself long before my parents needed assistance.
Caregiving Woes
I rarely disclose that I am my parents’ power of attorney and their ‘do every thing’ person. I have found solace in two friends who are in their recently minted caregiver roles. It is unanimous that this new phase of life that we chose comes with a steep price to our psychological health.
When people learn that I am caring for my parents, it elicits ‘God bless you’ type responses from those who are clueless about what that entails. On the other hand, the ones who have or are in the trenches give an empathetic “I understand” response. The first group of people typically stir a bit of guilt for me because I dislike this role vehemently and what I am doing is not altruistic.
Then why do it? or ‘put them in a nursing home.’ Well, as much as this is a difficult role, they are still family and more specifically, they are my parents. I always think back when I was a baby, toddler and teenager, my mother had to put up with me. It was the job she chose. It is now my turn to do the same for them in their helpless moments and final stage of life.
Importance of Pictures
There is a picture collage on my dresser and some of the photos are of my parents when they were younger and healthier. There is a feeling of sadness whenever I focus on photographs taken during better days – days that were further from death by old age.
The photos are also a disruption to my loathing of my caregiver role. They remind me why I made this choice and why I will continue in this role until I am no longer needed. They jog my memories to a time when my mother did not have multiple specialty appointments and takes a handful of medications three times a day. They jog my memories about a time when my father did not always smell like pee and I did not disdain him as much.
The photos remind me of days when I was free to live my life without any responsibilities and I never worried about them becoming feeble. Most importantly, the photos remind me of a time when they were just my parents and not my full time second job.
Time Passes
I miss the days when my parents were capable of taking care of themselves. It is hard to see photos of them then and look at them now. You ask yourself, where did the time go?
If you are or were a caregiver to adult family or special needs family, I would love to hear your input.
The Unedited Version 