How to Talk To Your Doctor: Getting What You Want and Need, for Caregivers and Families

Most of us pine for the days when we had home town doc who delivered us, knows everything about us–and cared that we stay alive. Not that most ever had that–but it sure sounds good, doesn’t it? As a caregiver to my mom who had Parkinson’s, heart disease, and Alzheimer’s, trust me, I’ve spent a whole lot of time in the doctor’s offices. I’ve gone round and round trying to get them to understand not only what my mom needed, but what I could handle.

I did a little research on-line to find out various ways to find a good doctor, and here’s what I uncovered.

What to look for in a good doctor:

Communication Tips for Working Effectively With Your Doctor and Staff:

• Repeat over and over: I am 100% responsible for my life. (And if you’re a caregiver, then you’re also responsible for someone else’s). Don’t leave your medical issues completely in someone else’s hands, even if those hands are attached to a physician. You should know what medications you’re on, what course of treatments you’ve agreed to–at all times.
• Chat with the staff and get to know them. Bribe them with a tin of chocolate popcorn or stop by near a holiday with a coupon to a local restaurant or coffee shop. Hey, it’s hard to resist someone who takes an interest in you, and that’s exactly what you’re doing for them. Ask about the picture of their kids, and use their name when you’re talking with them. This is just being considerate, but it comes in handy when you’ve got an earache and you call begging to be seen that day.
• Start out your relationship with your doctor by shaking hands (dressed), and looking him/her in the eye. Let them know that you’re an equal. You hold a job in your community (or you did if you were retired), and that you are intelligent and articulate. Without being bossy or demanding, let him/her know that you are expecting to be treated in a warm and professional manner.
• Go to the doctor’s office in a good mood! Be a sunshine to others around you. Be on time, don’t gripe about the little things, joke around with the staff–and watch how differently you’re treated. Take your knitting or your favorite magazine and get to know the person you’re sitting next to. Life is happening everywhere–even doctor’s offices.
• Write your questions down and keep them brief–but make sure you go home with answers. Also write down their answers or directions. Don’t expect their directions to make sense–put it in your own words and have a clear plan of action you can follow when you leave the doctor’’s office.
• Do your homework–go on the Internet, check out your condition and possible drugs, treatments, symptoms, and side effects. While some doctors find this annoying or intimidating, others (most) will be less likely to treat you like a two-year old. Don’t act like a know-it-all, but do be informed.
• If you don’t feel you’re being heard, then be clear. Ask a pointed question and make sure you get an answer. You have a right to know what’s going on. Start out asking in a firm and clear manner, but don’t give up. Restate the question and ask again.
•  Medicine has sadly become entwined with the pharmaceutical industry and we forget that there are other alternatives and compliments to drug therapy. Let them know what kind of patient you are, and state what types of treatments you’ll consider–or won’t consider.
• Consider holistic medicine as a complement to your main physician. Have you tried accupuncture for aiding in quitting smoking? Or for arthritis? Eastern based practices are now more mainstream than ever, and many of their benefits have been documented.
• Balance your caregiving responsibilities with the rest of your life. As hard as it is, we can’t center our life around one person–as a mother, daughter, wife, and woman I had to constantly weigh what was best with everyone. Some medical advice would keep you in a perpetual state of hospitals, doctor visits, and medical care and leave you no time for anything else. As difficult as it is to face, sometimes you have to say no.
• Write down your prescriptions and dosage and keep it in your wallet at all times. Don’t rely on the doctor or his chart–and realize that if you see more than one doctor and they’re not aware of the other’s medications, you could potentially have some serious drug interactions.
• Speak up if there’s error. It happens all the time. Dosages get written down incorrectly. The doctor orders another round of chemo and you don’t want it–or you can’t take that amount–or your insurance won’t pay for a particular treatment. Don’t get upset, but do speak up–remember that 100% responsible for your own life mantra I mentioned earlier. .”

My last bit of advice: Say thank you when you leave. Shake the doctor’s hands, and even if he or his staff act rushed or inconsiderate, then make it a point to show them how to be considerate. The amazing Maya Angelou said, “We teach people how to treat us.”

Caregivers have the added responsibility for being the health advocate for others. Take the initiative and draw the best out of those around you. Be responsible for yourself and those you care for. Have a goal, cultivate positive attitude and a spirit of gratitude. Generally, we get what we ask for, so be sure to state clearly what you want and need from the medical community.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

I’m Not Sure I Want to Attend a Caregiver’s Support Group

Creating Memorial Services with Heart, Part of the Caregiving Journey

Creating a meaningful memorial service for your loved one is cathartic, and you don’t have to wait until your loved one passes to begin to think about what they–and you–want and need.

It’s a part of caregiving you’d rather not thnk about, but it’s the last thing you can do to honor their wishes and gather everyone around to reminisce, consol each other, and share precious memories.

Planning funerals and/or memorial services takes time, and you’d rather spend those last few weeks and days your loved one has on earth at their side.

You may find that planning your loved one’s memorial service feels good in a way. It’s proacive. It’s exercising a little bit of control, and it feels good to honor the one you love. Don’t feel like you’re giving into death, and only do as much or as little as feels right to you.

Have you and your loved one talked about cremation or burial?

Even if you choose cremation, there are options. For some families, talking about this, even with the loved one who is dying is somehow relieving. It feels good (in a strange way) to make one last decision together.

Here are some tips to help you create a meaningful service:

If you choose to scatter your loved one’s ashes at sea, from an airplane or other location, then make a few calls. Depending on where you live, you may have to wait for this portion until later. There are also laws regarding this practice, and there are companies (charter boats, etc.) who can assist you with this.

One of the most beautiful services I’ve ever attended was on a sailboat with just a handful of loved ones. Someone played the guitar and his wife scattered his ashes behind the boat at sunset and his sister broke rose  petals on the water at the same time. It was truly touching.

• Decide if this is a somber/grieving occasion. It’s okay either way. Sometimes it’s just heartbreaking–our loved ones suffer before they pass, or it’s way too soon. It’s perfectly okay to gather to cry, hug, and hold each other.
• You can have a funeral type service soon after they die, and a memorial service months or even a year later–after the initial hurt and shock has worn off.
• For others, this is a sweet, playful time. Make it your own and reflective of your relationship. Hire an Irish band, do whatever is right for you.
• Know that you can’t please others. Don’t get caught up in this vortex. Don’t even listen to the snide comments–and trust me, there will be some. Your family and friends will just have to understand. Let them talk, if they must. This is one time when you need to follow your heart.
• Ask someone who needs a job to do to contact out of town relatives and friends and let them know that your loved one may be passing soon.
• If you do decide on more of a memorial/celebration type gathering, then let people know. Some families prefer people to wear colorful clothing, that joyful music will be played and people are encouraged to share humorous stories. It’s helpful to let people know this so that they respond properly.
• If you’d like to forego flowers, then begin to think of charities that people can donate to–but do some research and offer website or address info that can be placed on the program or sent by email.

There are no rules. Create a memorial service with heart. There’s nothing more healing than to celebrate your loved one, your life together, and all that they mean to you.

~Carol O’Dell, Author, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

www.mothering-mother.com

• E-vites to the service is totally acceptable and a great way to contact people without trying to make a zillion calls. Again, a great job for someone who wants to help.
• Be aware that you may have a “dry run.” By that I mean that your loved one could rally around again. Don’t be surprised if this happens. After you let everyone know, get all sad, start to make arrangements–and then they seem to get better. (My mom did this and I felt kind of foolish). This is common, and in general don’t expect them to miraciously get better. This is often temporary, but of course no one can know for sure. All the work and prep you did can be put on hold and if you’re fortunate enough to have a few more days, hours, weeks, or months with your loved one–then of course, it’s a good thing.
• Many families and cultures have a dinner of sorts after the service. For some families, they like to get creative–I heard of one in Atlanta catered by the famous Varsity restaurant. The lady passing already planned and paid for it–and it was such a send off for her loved ones, and such a relief. Most people do something in someone’s home–a potluck. The point is, you get to choose–do anything you want. Cater it, serve deli sandwiches, serve filet mignon–doesn’t matter, just do what fits you and the occasion.
• Another special touch is to give attendees momentos–I heard of one funeral in which everyone received a baseball cap from the collection of hat’s the father left. What a better use of a collection that to share it with those he loved!
• Be aware that funeral/memorial services are people’s business, but it’s your time of grief. If you have a budget, then let them know up front that you have a maximum you will spend. Don’t get suckered in by allowing someone to use your emotions. While you want to make this special, you don’t want to pay for it for years to come.

Let people help, but don’t let them take over. You have the ace card, and if you need to be firm or difficult, you’ll be forgiven. You can’t possibly do all this alone. You’re going to have to let go of some of your perfectionist tendencies (and we all have them), and let others pitch in to make this day special.

State clearly what you and your loved one want, but then let others deal with the details. Creating a funeral or memorial service with meaning takes thought–and heart–and it’s part of the healing process of the caregiving journey.

Alzheimer’s and Violence, “I Don’t Want Anyone to Know How Bad It Is”

Have you stopped having people come into your home because you don’t want them to see your dad/husband or wife “that way?” Are you hiding awful it really is?

Alzheimer’s, Lewy Body, dementia and other neurological based diseases affect the brain in different ways. Some individuals become docile, too docile. They stop talking, and pretty much stop moving. For others, Alzheimer’s turns them into a fidget machine. They pace incessantly, talk, babble, rant, need next to no sleep, and when forced to sit, their knee jiggles non-stop. Others are paranoid and will lash out at anyone who tries to touch them–it’s as if their brain–and body–is on fire.

And for some, Alzheimer’s makes them anxious, mean, and violent. There’s no other way to  put it.

According to a recent study conducted by the Journal of the American Medical Association s of resident-to-resident violence in Massachusetts nursing homes and dementia special-care units, researchers found that about 25 percent of the dementia population in a care facility had violent tendencies.

More and more law suits are cropping up because staff and patients are being attacked, and resulting in physical injuries such as fractures, dislocations, and lacerations.

They curse when before the disease they were  practically saints. They use vile language that would shock and embarrass a sailor, and their eyes look as if they could kill you in your sleep. For many, their violence is more of a protective mechanism.  They may thrash, hit, try to bite if they feel cornered, yell, cry. It’s more exhausting and embarrassing than harmful. They act like really big two year old.

In all of these cases, Alzeimer’s effects each brain differently. You  have to think of it as a chemical reaction, not a persoanl decision.

And then, there are the truly violent . Their rage is unpredictable and unprovoked. They slap, bite, kick, pinch, and for a few, and surprisingly, they possess the power to break bones, knock someone down, and are truly dangerous.Many are placed in care facilities because their families can’t handle it. Their families don’t visit as often because they’re scared. They feel as if their loved one is dead to them, and yet they struggle with guilt every single day. It’s an awful existance for everyone involved.

It’s that interum time that I’m addressing–when you’re starting to notice some anger–gritting teeth, cursing, grabbing your wrist really hard, knowing you against the wall–and you don’t know how far this will go. You make excuses. You provoked it. You shouldn’t have confronted them. They’re not taking their meds. It only happened once…these are just a few excuses we create to “protect” our loved one.

I urge you to speak to your doctor now.

For some, an added medication that stabalizes their mood (and yes, it may make them lethargic) can curtail their violence. It doesn’t work with everyone, but if you catch it early, it just might work.

For many, particularly spouses, you hide these changes in behavior  from your children, your neighbors, your friends.

You stop having people over. You wear long sleeves to cover bruises.

You’re afraid all the time. More afraid they’ll take your husband or wife away than that you’ll be hurt.

You can handle it–is your rationalization–but the guilt, the shame, the thought of being separated is what keeps you silent.

You grieve the death of your marriage, of the life you had–and yet, you can tell no one what you’re going through.

You don’t want anyone to “see” your husband, your wife this way. You want to preserve their dignity.

I understand. I did this with (or for)  my mom. I shielded her from the world. I didn’t let people know how chaotic, out of control, scary and heartbreaking it really was. I let her dig her fingernails into my arm and scream at me, her eyes so wild I didn’t even recognize my mother any more. If I would do this for my mother, I can truly understand how a husband or wife would be wiling to do even more.

But here’s what I came to realize:

This is a disease. No one will judge you or your spouse–and if they do, they just don’t  understand what’s happening. 

Your loved one can not  help this. This isn’t their “inner self” or what they’ve been thinking all along. You didn’t contribute to this either. It just is.

It really is nobody’s business and you don’t have to share it with everyone, but having at least one confidence, one dear friend or your clergy can help lighten your heart.

You know those statistics about caregiver stress and how many caregivers die before their loved one? They’re talking about you!

You’ fall into that category big time. All this stress could lead to depression, heart disease, obesity, and strokes–and you know your loved one wouldn’t want this for you.

You are not alone.

Sometimes, you just can’t do it anymore. You feel that you’re in a living hell.

This is a truly dangerous state and you have to ask for help.

With guidance, you can find a good care facility that has a low patient to care staff ratio and administers the proper medications needed to lessen the violent outbursts. I know you don’t want to “dope” your loved one. But you can’t continue to be hurt, or risk that for others.

This disease can get really ugly, and if you’re in this situation, I am so, so sorry–but please, don’t suffer alone.

That’s not love, and your loved one wouldn’t want this for you.

Screw what your family would think, what they neighbors will think. Protect yourself and know that asking for help is the right thing to do.

I can’t promise you that you and your spouse can stay together–in the house. I can’t promise you that this is going to all magically get better.

Sometimes we really do have to grieve and let go–knowing that you’ll never get back what you had.

But I promise that while it’s going to be hard–and lonely—and you’ll probably feel guilty–after a time, things will get better.

Your loved one’s care might be better managed with help. And although your life won’t be the same, it can be good. A new good. A different good.

If you’re experiencing Alzheimer’s, Lewy Body or dementia related behavioral changes (violence or otherwise), please consider calling the Alzheimer’s Association National Hot line. It’s confidential and you can speak to someone who really cares. The number is: tel: 1.800.272.3900

~Carol O’Dell, author of Mothering Mother

“Don’t Leave Me Here Without You!” Why Caregiving Your Spouse Is So Difficult

Move Over Michelle, Mama’s in the House: The Obamas Are a Multigenerational Family

Move over, Michelle Obama, cause Mama’s in the house.

That’s right, Michelle Obama’s mother is moving into the White House.

People used to live together under one roof out of necessity–to run the farm, to continue the family business. In fact, it’s on the rise.

More than 3.6 million parents lived with adult children in 2007, according to census data. That number is up 67 percent from 2000. And in the new economic light, more and more families are choosing to “bunk up” to save on expenses, and as a necessity for those who have lost their jobs.

 

Marian Robinson, Michelle’s mother quit her job 22 months ago to help care for the Obama girls while Michelle and Barack started campaigning. She’s now 71 and a retired secretary and she’s moving into the White House on a “trial basis” before giving up her home in Chicago. While the presidential campaign was underway, Ms. Robinson cooked the girl’s meals, shuffled them to their various activities, helped with homework and kissed them goodnight. That’s a big job, but it was for a big reason.

That’s something I admire–a family that figures out how to care for one another and when it’s the appropriate time to do so. I’m not too worried how she’ll be treated a few years from now when she needs elder-care or caregiving. She’s invested in her family, and love is almost always returned.

The White House will be full again, with a father, mother, two children, a grandmother, and a dog. I like the idea of those old rooms bustling with the sound of feet running up and down the halls, of a grandmother’s stern call to order and the yelp of a dog.

Somehow, we got away from that in my generation. We got independent, perhaps too independent thinking that money would be enough–or as my southern daddy would say, “We got too big for our britches.”

 

My adoptive mother grew up in a multigenerational house. She was surrounded by aunts and uncles (her mother was divorced and raising two children on her own in the 1910’s). My mother’s memories are good ones. A large table with lots of food and conversation. She said she felt as if she had many mothers, not just one–and it helped that her mother could work full time and her two children had someone at home.

Times haven’t changed that much. Marian Robinson is an example of millions of grandmother’s who are either raising or helping to raise grandchildren. We need each other. We need our mothers and fathers to be a part of their grandchidren’s lives. That’s how values and stories get passed down.

From all I’ve read, Marian Robinson is going to be a busy woman. She’s noted for her independence and will only stay if she’s needed. She may even purchase a home nearby just so she has some privacy and doesn’t have to deal with the day to day fuss life in politics entails. She’s no where near slowing down and has recentlycompeted in the Senior Games running the 50 and 100 yard dash. No matter where she chooses to sleep, she’ll be an active part of the Obama household and everyone will benefit from that.

It’s not that her value as a grandmother is in throwing in a load of laundry or chauffeuring the girls around, it’s that the children will be influenced by her wisdom and will have that sense of family and continuity that’s so important. It’s easy to caught up in the “doing” and not the “being.”  The most valuable gift our elders have to offer is simply who they are–a part of us. Their life, their experiences, their stories shape and define future generations.

I have seen families take advantage of their elders–used them as free babysitters–and that’s not healthy for anyone. Sometimes we have to say, “No, not tonight, I have plans.”

 

As my mother moved in with my husband, our daughters and myself, I knew I had to strike a balance. My mother had to fit into our home, and in return, I (we) needed to treat her with respect and privacy. These are the concerns multigenerational families face. You don’t know exactly what your issues are going to be until you’re there, all living together. One person becomes needy, another bossy–someone needs more privacy than another, and…somebody always gets jealous. It’s just human nature and no matter how old we are, we still get jealous or needy at times.

My mother was always a part of our lives, and I’m so grateful that even though she was an older grandmother (she was 74 when her first granddaughter was born), she got right to being an active grandmother. She used to come over and get our girls and take them for an overnight stay as soon as they were out of diapers. They remember going to eat breakfast at Shoney’s with my mom and how proud she was showing them off to anyone who walked by, and then going to K Mart to hold the dolls. She’d buy them something small and even though these times weren’t fancy, they were just enough to begin to build a relationship–and memories. Our daughters remember my mother’s songs, her prayers and Bible stories, her stories–and even her quirks, her humor, her fears–everything that made her a whole person. So when it came time for my mother to move in with us, they expected it. In many ways, she was already a part of our lives.

Just the other day, our 21 year old daughter said she was glad her grandmother lived with us. That’s saying a lot, because she was there through it all, the Alzheimer’s, the heart attacks, and the end of life. She’s now able to measure the whole of the experience and not just focus on a particularly dark time.

Getting used to living together and under such scrutiny is bound to cause some nerves to be razzled. Just as with any family, it takes time to learn to live together. But it’s worth it. There are times when we need each other, and that’s the best definition of what makes a family that I can think of.

What I wish for the Obama’s is that everyone will be patient and understanding with one another during this time of change. My advice, if I may offer a little–be quick to forgive, laugh at your mistakes, value your togetherness, and to respect and appreciate each other’s differences.

In the end, the Obama girls will be surrounded by family, by legacy, and by love.

~Carol O’Dell, author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

Familly advisor at Caring.com

Am I Holding Onto the Past? Why We Keep the Clothes of Those We Love

I’ve had my Daddy’s suede jacket hanging in my closet since 1982, the year he died.

I didn’t know I’d be a keeper, but I guess I am. 

It’s brick-red suede, and has completely worn through at the edge of the sleeves. It no longer smells of him, but I keep it.

I remember when I was a child, riding with him to Sears on Saturday morning just to buy salted peanuts and look at the tools in the tool department. He wore that jacket. I was adopted and maybe that makes me more sentimental, I don’t know, but keeping my past is important to me.

I also have his Bible, his wallet, his watch, his glasses, and a yellow shirt I remember him in.

I have lots of items that was my mother’s–her mink coat, her Russian coat, purses, jewelry, a Sunday suit, and more Bibles. (My mother was a preacher, so trust me when I say she had lots of  Bibles).

I also have their photos, letters, recipes, Daddy’s old tool chest, the first gift he ever gave her when she was just 14–it’s a small cedar box that’s in the shape of a heart. If  my math is right, he gave it to her in 1925. I can tell the story of  how they met as if it were my own.

Why do we keep our loved one’s clothes?

Like a child’s ratty blanket, we hold on. Safety, security, identity.

Our momentos are saved in boxes, on shelves, in cabinets, and I know I keep way too much, but how do you let go of such things?

It’s all I have,  my way of connecting. I remember Daddy’s bushy eyebrows, the thickness of his fingers and how I could barely squeeze my child fingers through his. I remember that jacket and how he’d wear it when we went to see his family–his sister and brother every Sunday afternoon. His faithfulness amazed me then. His loyalty and tenderness is something I value in a man.

There are issues with keeping things. Psychologists might tell you that you’re not moving on, not making room for the new. I understand the logic. A friend recently visited my home and commented on how much my house had changed in the past couple of years. My mom’s antiques are no longer on display. Some have been give to other family members, others sold.  This is a slow process–for me.

It no longer looks like my mother’s house. I moved my mother and her 40 years not moving household items into my house during the last couple years of her life. I tried to talk her into getting rid of a few things but it was hard enough just to get her to consent to come with me.

My house bulged at the seams. 

I barely had room for “me.” My mother was one powerful woman. She had a way of taking over.  I let her reign, so to speak. As her daughter and in those last few years, caregiver, I learned how to hold my ground and still allow her to feel as if she had some independence. 

But now, I have a new couch, a new dining room table.  Her furniture has been divvied up among my daughters. I’ve reclaimed my throne, so to speak.

Ironically, I consider myself more of a futurist than a person who lives in the past. I lean toward modern/eclectic design and enjoy new music. I’ve made a slew of six month, one year, five year, and then year plans, always writing my future. I’m a list maker–a list for the day, the week, the month, sometimes two a day. I like feeling like I’ve accomplished something so I’ll write down something down I just thought of so I get the thrill of crossing it out.

But when it comes to my parents, I’m a keeper, but it no longer keeps me  in the past. I’m not avoiding “moving on.”

I like to think of their clothes and personal items as a cushion to my life. As if they somehow support me and connect me. Just one look at that jacket and I’m four again. No other Bible comforts me like Daddy’s. I don’t need to even open it to feel a sense of guidance.

It takes time to get to a place to let go of at least a few things.

After your loved one dies, part of grief is when you still try to live in your old life with old clothes and the way things used surrounding you. 

You weren’t ready for him to die. You don’t want to date, get a new job, or have to figure out what to do with yourself next Christmas. You don’t want to move on.

 Some people get rid of things too soon. Others, too late–it’s different for each person. Finally, you begin to make your own way. Reinvent yourself. Find who you are–now. They are in you, a part of you, but you are changed. You have to go on.

What’s the time frame? Varies. I know people who were clearing out closets before the funeral. I know others who open a closet ten years later–and there’s everything just as it was.  Of course, there’s always a chance of getting stuck and not being able to let go. You run that risk.

For many, somewhere around or after that first year mark, things shift–a little. You don’t have to make yourself do everything. Some things come a little easier. A little. For others, it’s two, three years before they can feel anything but blinding loss.

But somewhere along the line, you let go of a few things. You call up a family member and offer them a book or a knick-knack. You sell something, drop items off at Goodwill or another charity. You live with the empty space for awhile before you figure out how to fill your life again. And  the items you keep become more intended, more precious. They go in top drawers and the spare dresser in the guest bedroom. You leave out a few photos, a book–a silver comb that sits on your dresser.

Your loved one is now incorporated. Their clothes, their memories are a part of you and they don’t take you or your house over. Grief and memory is no longer like a a giant box you left in the middle of the floor that you trip over again and again.

You still have a few momentos–a jacket, or a Bible.

Anytime you need to, you can slide open a draw and remember.   

But now, your closet and your heart is lighter. Airier. There’s room for something new. 

~Carol D. O’Dell, Author, Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

www.mothering-mother.com

Is This Your Last Christmas Together?

Do the Hoidays Feel Like Too Much? How Caregivers and Families Find Joy in the Season

Caregivers and Happiness: An Oxymoron?

Do caregivers struggle with the concept of happiness? 

People are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. ~Abraham Lincoln.

I find it pretty amazing that this quote is attributed to Abraham Lincoln.

He didn’t exactly have a cushy life.

According to today’s standards of what qualifies as a “good life,” Abraham Lincoln’s journey would not be considered an easy one–then or now.

And yet, we all owe him a great debt. He held America together and changed the course of  history. His words and example still inspire us today.

Happiness is a lot about choice. It’s a state of mind and way of looking at things. It doesn’t change the facts. If your mom has Alzheimer’s, if your dad fell and broke his hip, that’s a fact–but how you deal with it–that’s up to you.

Abraham Lincoln’s mother died when he was nine, and although his family could barely survive, young Lincoln gave up hunting after watching a turkey suffer after he shot the bird.

He didn’t just become president over night–he was a lawyer, then tried for congress (twice) but was defeated by Stephen Douglas–over the issue of abolition.

He married Mary Todd, and three of their four children would die before adulthood. This left Mary, who already suffered with depression, even more mentally unstable. As Abraham Lincoln’s life began to evolve more and more around politics, his marriage suffered.

President Lincoln was under great stress to try to hold our country together in perhaps its most challenging time. He did so, but with great personal sacrifice. He was assasinated when he as only 56 years old.

He doesn’t exactly seem like a person who would focus much on the meaning of happiness–but who better than someone who knew, but did not give into sadness/

There were many times in Mr. Lincoln’s  life when I’m sure he had to choose to simply go on, breathe in and out, and keep on doing the task at hand.  Sometimes happy isn’t about being happy, but choosing not to give in to the cares of life.  Caregivers know this well.

Happy is an unusual word. According to the Princeton online dictionary, happiness  means:

• state of well-being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy
• emotions experienced when in a state of well-being

Where did the word  “happy” come from?

It dates back to 1340, from the waord, “hap,” which was connected to chance or fortune.

(From  Etymology.com)
1340, “lucky,” from hap “chance, fortune” (see haphazard), sense of “very glad” first recorded c.1390. Ousted O.E. eadig (from ead “wealth, riches”) and gesælig, which has become silly. O.E. bliðe “happy” survives as blithe. From Gk. to Ir., a great majority of the European words for “happy” at first meant “lucky.” An exception is Welsh, where the word used first meant “wise.” Used in World War II and after as a suffix (e.g. bomb-happy, flak-happy) expressing “dazed or frazzled from stress.” Happiness is first recorded 1530. Happy hour“early evening period of discount drinks and free hors-d’oeuvres at a bar” is first recorded 1961. Happy-go-lucky is from 1672. Happy as a clam (1636) was originally happy as a clam in the mud at high tide, when it can’t be dug up and eaten.

So, I gather that happiness has a lot to do with choice–and chance. “Hap,” or chance, or luck has a lot to do with life. It’s the opposiite of…control.  Control is when we put conditions on our happiness. We can’t be happy if…dad can’t walk or mom dies. Can we really exact those kinds of conditions in order to ensure/insure our happiness?

Much of caregiving doesn’t fall under the category of “happy.” While parts might be necessary, needed, serve a purpose, and at times, appreciated–as a caregiver  I found that I had to fight or choose to be happy. Let me tell you, I know how it feels to push that rock up hill. There were some days when a Volkswagen Bug full of 50 clowns wouldn’t have gotten my mother to crack a smile!

I had to look for the good, the funny, the crazy and ironic. I had to let go, give up, give in, and simply trust. So much was so way beyond anything I could have prepared for that it was in away, left up to luck, to chance–to hope. And maybe that’s where the happy part comes in. When you can’t control it, you might as well choose to see the good, any good that comes your way.

The smallest of good/happy could make my day–a cardinal dipping past my window–I love how they fly–dip, dip, dip–their bright wings in defiance of a winter morning.

Happy for no reason. Right now, with all the economic challenges we face individually and collectively, I feel like I don’t have a choice–either crawl in the bed and pull up the covers (indefinitely), or keep an eye out for bright red birds and all the amazing small wonders that surround us.

Bottom line, if Abe Lincoln can choose to be happy, then so can I.

Other great quotes by Lincoln.

~Carol O’Dell

Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s  Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

Family Advisor at Caring.com

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