Life is funny. Sometimes the most rebellious of us, the teen gone bad, the unwed mother of three, the Harley brother in leather and bandanas and lots of tattoos who become the best caregiver, the most thoughtful son–or daughter.
Why? Sometimes those who travel counter to society have the most tender souls. Sometimes the battle with their personal demons have made them even more thoughtful, more real and more alive. They may wrap the package in a prickly covering, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a teddy bear underneath.
Our lives are like boomerangs. For some of us, we fling ourselves as long and as hard as we can from our families–and our trajectory runs its course. We go to the bitter edge, turn, and with the same intensity we find our way back home again.
That doesn’t mean that if you’re the black sheep that you have to cut your hair, cover your tats, and clean up your language in order to be a good caregiver. Be yourself! What a refreshing idea. What you have to give to your loved one–your life experience, your way of looking at the world–is unique and of value.
And if you don’t already know it, black sheep have incredible charisma. It’s your charm, your edginess, your dangerous elements that make you such a great care person.
I do think that most of us get more forgiving as we age. We get tired of being angry at everybody and everything. We get tired of our own spiel. We realize we don’t know everything and all that we’ve been hiding and running from was ironically trying to teach us a thing or two. If your family didn’t used to accept you, it doesn’t mean they still won’t. And if your mom or dad or sister or brother need you, and you need them–be willing to knock on the door.
Alzheimer’s and other diseases that ravage our bodies are great levelers. When it hits and your loved one needs help, it won’t matter if you’re wearing cowboy boots or Birkenstocks. Don’t let others keep you away. Don’t let your past keep you away. You deserve to be there. They deserve to have you there in those final years, months, and hours.
So what if you don’t look like, talk like or think like the other sons and daughters in the waiting room. Maybe that’s a good thing. Some of the kindest, most attentive, most present caregivers I know come in the most unlikely of packages.
~Carol O’Dell
Author of Mothering Mother
Alzheimer’s does different things to different people.
I’ve heard some people say their spouse or parent got sweeter. “Not my mother,” I say in return, laughing (and almost crying at the same time) at some of the antics my mother and I lived through. My mother had Parkinson’s and later, developed Alzheimer’s. Double whammy. Writing about our daily escapades in Mothering Mother helped me deal with the stress.
Some people with Alzheimer’s are docile, too docile. They stop talking, and pretty much stop moving.
And honestly, as hurtful and difficult as it is to have a feisty Alzheimer’s loved one, my heart breaks for the family members who are left with so little because of this disease. There’s no communication. No love–or fight left in them.
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 yes, for some, Alzheimer’s turns their loved one mean, and violent. They curse when before the disease they were practically saints. They use vile language that would shock and embarrass a fleet of sailors, and their eyes look as if they should already be in San Quentin.
Violence is hard to understand, but for the most part, a person with any brain disorder feels threatened and that’s why they lash out. They may thrash, hit, try to bite if they feel cornered, they may scream at anyone who approaches them or cry as if they’re being tortured.
It’s exhausting, heartbreaking and embarrassing–and yet care homes are full just because of this. Families throw up their hands. They don’t know what to do.
Alzeimer’s effects each brain differently. You have to think of it as a chemical reaction, not a persoanl decision.
The dark truth is that for many, Alzheimer’s turns into an all-out rage. It’s unpredictable and unprovoked. They slap, bite, kick, pinch, and for a few, and surprisingly, they possess the power to break bones, knock someone down, grab knives, throw a lamp, and are truly dangerous.
Their families can’t handle it. Who could? Alzheimer’s patients can go on very little sleep or food. They need 24/7 supervision–and you need to know the staff (weekend, day, and night staff) well.
It’s crucial that you, the family member stays involved. It’s too easy to lose your temper or ignore their incessant cries–and only our love and committment keeps us going. As challenging and scary as it is, visit often and demand good care.
If your loved one is starting to show signs of agression, 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.
Don’t hide behind excuses. When they start gritting their teeth, knocking you away, pulling your hair, you have to get help.
Have you stopped having people over. Do you wear long sleeves to cover bruises? Are you afraid to go to sleep? You’re not alone, but don’t go it alone. Ask for help. There are people and organizations in your community that want to help you–and can help you.
I know you don’t want anyone to “see” your husband, your wife, your mom this way. You want to preserve their dignity. I felt those same feelings. I didn’t want to damage her good name. I didn’t want her to be remembered like this. But know that people are more understanding than you give them credit for–and the ones that don’t understand eventually will. Life has a way of teaching us the lessons we need to learn.
No one knows why Alzheimer’s effects people differently. Yes, it’s brain chemistry. Yes, it’s the way in which each brain deteriorates differently, but it’s also an interaction of personality, history, and family dynamics. We don’t get to choose.
The only way to get through late stage Alzheimer’s is with help. Ask for help. Call your local elder-source office. Call Alzheimer’s Association. Don’t go it alone. You don’t have to.
No matter how much you try not to think about it, you dread the day your loved one died. It’s especially hard, those first couple of anniversaries. Perhaps you spent years caregiving and you’re dealing with the void in your life. Perhaps it was sudden and you feel as if the bottom fell out of your life. It feels as if you’re going to get physically ill, dreading this day.
Even years later, a dear friend of mine wonders what’s wrong with her come late May, early June. I remind her that’s when her father died. He commited suicide and took the life of her step mother as well. No wonder everything in her repels this awful day. Who would want to remember? Once I remind her, she can relax. Her anxiety has a reason for being there, and that fact alone is ironically comforting.
My friend has learned to let grief wash over her. Once she recognizes it, she lets it be a part of her again. She knows it will pass, but she also knows that fighting it will only make it worse.
But your body does whether you do or not. Our bodies have “muscle memory.” Just like poison ivy, grief and sorrow gets in your system and comes full circle the time of year your loved one died. You have to give into the grief.
How do you get through that death date?
Everyone has a different way of dealing, so find what works for you. Here are few suggestions to consider.
Instead of avoiding, give in. Have a day to cry, to grieve, to remember your loss. Write your loved one a letter. Write them a angry letter if you need to. Perhaps you’ve put off facing the fact that you are angry and hurt. Maybe not at them, but that they left you with so much to deal with. Maybe you are furious with them, some left over business. So be furious. Write that letter. Stay home that day and yell at them and finally have it out.
Trust your gut. Whatever you need to do, do it.
For others, it’s a bittersweet time. Get out those photos and say goodbye all over again. The day your loved one died or the day of their funeral or memorial service may have been such a shock that you were out of it. You could have been so nervouc, so zoned out, so medicated that you didn’t “feel” your grief the first time around. So do it again. Have you day to say goodbye. Visit the memorial gardens or place you spread their ashes–or create a new place for you to go. Make “right” on saying goodbye to your loved one.
Or maybe you need to avoid. Running feels right, and I won’t tell you not to. Eventually, yes, you’ll have to face all this–but you’ll know when. It may hit you one day and you can no longer avoid upir sorrow. Until then, do what you have to do. Yes, it’s healing to face our grief, but we’re all on different times.
Death dates get easier. Maybe not sequentially–you might have good anniversarie and bad anniversaries. But you will come to a place where you can breathe again.
~Carol O’Dell
Author of Mothering Mother
Is caregiving hard on a marriage? It can be. But it can also be a wake-up call. Sometimes our marriage can be defined by what we’ve survived. Yes, caregiving was stressul on marriage–at times. I wrote in my book, Mothering Mother that I felt like I was a giant ice cream milkshake and each of my family member had a straw–and they were all sucking on that straw trying to get more of me. At times, one would pick up the glass and tap the side, or another would dig deep with the spoon trying to get the last drop.
That’s what it felt like–that I there wasn’t enough of me to go around. Sandwich generation moms really feel this struggle. But looking back, I also see what a rich and textured time it was in my life. Being needed is a good thing. Feeling “cushioned” or sandwiched on both sides can also be comforting and defining.
Did my marriage suffer? Yes, at times. It’s difficult to know how to juggle everything.
My husband got the worst of me. He got the sleep deprived, always griping about something, not very romantic or considerate–me. He knew when I came to bed, I might have to get back up in 30 minutes, and maybe even 3 or 4 times that night. He knew that if my mom had a particularly rough night that he’d “pay” the next night–with a frozen pizza for dinner, or he’d pitch in, do the dishes or take the girls to an activity while I sat zombie-fied on the couch.
But we made it through. He was patient. Understanding. Tolerant. I’m sure at times, I made it harder than I needed to by complaining. We create a lot of our own troubles. He’d hold me in the shower and just let me cry. My mom’s Alzheimer’s was hard–physically and emotionally. He’d wash my hair and towel dry me and I would still be crying. He’d pick my mom up when she fell out of bed or was yelling that someone broke into her room. He was firm when I needed him to be, kind when he needed to be.
Make Caregiving Easier on Your Marriage:
- Be a team. Don’t make each other the enemy. Stay on the same team. Tag team, take turns, help each other out.
- Don’t both of you be down at the same time. It’s pretty natural that if your hubby has a bad day at work, you make him a cool drink, you listen, and you encourage him that tomorrow will be better. If he had a rougher day than you did, then keep your mouth shut and let him vent for a change.
- Not trying to be patronizing to you guys, but my husband doesn’t “need” too much. If I smile when he comes through the door, ask him how his day was–and listen, give him something to eat )–anything, (or ask him to pick it up) and give him some lovin’ once in a while–he’s a happy guy. I’m glad I know how to please him. He knows what I need, too.
- Make time for each other–every day. I don’t care if it’s a walk to the mailbox. Hold hands and take your time. Sit together and have dinner. The wash, the dishes, the baths, the meds can all wait. Even if you have to sit in your mother’s room and eat frozen pot pie off tv trays, being together is what counts.
- Play! Flirt! Chase each other around the house and give each other towel snaps. Turn up the radio and dance in the kitchen. You may not be able to get away–so don’t use that as an excuse. Use that sense of adventure, imagination and humor and sexiness right at home. We used to sneak kisses in the laundry room–and it made me think back to our dating days and trying to grab a kiss without “mama” catching us.
- Keep that love life going. Now, I know, you don’t feel like it. But sex can be like exercise. I rarely “feel” like exercising, but once I get rolling, I’m glad I did. Do it any way. Maybe you can’t muster that 100% of the time, but your spouse needs you–and face it, who else in this whole world will give you what you need if not your spouse?
- If you lose your temper, say you’re sorry. Your nerves are bound to be raw. If you yell, snap, get sarcastic or downright mean–be quick to say sorry–and be quick to forgive.
- If you’re at the end, and your loved one is in hospice care, then know that this won’t last forever. Your life, your routines, your family traditions will all go on hold, and this is going to be hard, but get through the best you can.
- If you lose your way and your relationship feels stretched beyond its limits, or dry as a saltine cracker, trust that you’ll find your way back. Relationships are resilient, and caregiving doesn’t have to break it.
In the end, and caregviving does sadly end, you’ll be able to look at each other and say, “Look what we did.” Loving each other through the storms of life–the sweet times, funny times, and stressful times is really what it’s all about. And if you need help, seek marriage counseling. Hurts, resentments, misunderstandings build up over time–so get them worked out before they fester.
Sometimes you don’t know how good your marriage is, until it’s been tested. Is caregiving hard on your marriage? Sure. But you can stay together and even grow closer by the experience. Iit can also show you just how strong the two of you really are.
~Carol O’Dell
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:
- You can’t beat a recommendation from someone you know–a friend or co-worker.
- Make sure they’re board certified in their field. This is crucial because it can be deceptive.
- Visit the doctor’s office before making your appointment. Look around–is the staff fussy? Do they miserable? Time how long it takes for a perso to be seen. Ask hthe staff how long they’ve worked for the doctor, if they can tell you a little about him or her, or how long the doctor spends with each patient and see how you’re treated. If you hear alarm bells go off in your head, then keep looking.
- Get a doctor you like to recommend a doctor they like (if you’re looking for a specialist or in another field) because good doctors tend to hang out (aka play golf) with other good doctors.
- Check out some online sites that review credentials, awards and distinctions, as well as a rating system for his office and staff. Look at RateMDS.com, Healthgrades.com, ChoiceTrust.com or Vitals.com.
- Remember you’re the client. You’re paying, and you should be treated with respect. Sorry to say, but no doctor is going to spend as much time with you as you probably would like, but they should listen to you, be competent in their assessments, and know their field of medicine well.
- If you do feel that you need to stay with this doctor (perhaps because of location, specialty, or insurance), then here are a few helpful tactics.
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 have to admit that I didn’t attend a caregiver support group while I was caring for my mom.
Not everyone is the “group” type.
I started full time caregiving back in 1998 and honestly, I didn’t even know caregiving support groups existed. I had decided that it wasn’t going to be to go and talk about my mother! Yeah, I’m stubborn.
By the time I figured out my way in “caregiving land,” my mom was pretty far along. It’s not that I didn’t need a support group. I’m sure my friends were sick of my griping and whining.
But honestly, what little energy and thought I had were used to continue to parent my children.
In addition to my mom’s meds, physical therapy, and every day needs, I also had to think about SAT prep, teaching my youngest how to drive, helping another study for a big test, making sure they attended a youth group–and my spare time was spent driving them or making sure they got to their activities.
And that’s the way it should be–that’s what it’s like to be a sandwich generation parent. Juggling needs.
But now I know now that it would have benefited me greatly to attend a workshop, conference or support group–at least a couple of times a year.
Caregiver Support Groups Help By:
- Giving you a safe place to vent
- To know you’re not alone
- To find out about your community’s resources
- To make short and long term plans
- Helping you understand what part of the journey you’re on
- To give you validation and permission to feel all that you’re feeling
I encourage you to do a bit of Internet browsing and find out what’s available for you–almost every city and county offers something–an Alzheimer’s Association meeting, an American Heart Association gathering, stroke group meeting or a hospice based workshop.
I also realize I had an aversion to caregiving groups because I didn’t want to face the reality that I was a caregiver. I didn’t want to slap that on a name tag. I was in my late 30s when I crossed that line from being just my mother’s daughter to also being her caregiver.
If You Do Attend a Group or Workshop, Make It Worth Your While:
- Talking to someone while you’re there and even exchanging email addresses or phone numbers
- Ask a question–chances are if you don’t know the answer, others don’t know it either–and would really appreciate your candor
- Get info, lots of info–and follow up, make some calls or check out various groups on the web
- Many home health organizations attend these workshops–you could find some great resources, so look around
- Begin to take pride in your caregiver’s “badge of honor.” Get educated. Help others. Be okay that this is who you are and where you are–for now.
The good news is, you can accomplish a lot of this online. There are chat rooms, forums, and even online workshops–so even if you’re an introvert, you can sit in your PJs and find a caregiving buddy as well as access to lots of resources–all online.
Go on, type in caregiver support group and the name of your city or area. Find out what’s available.
Join an online group, or just call up a good friend–caregiving support has many faces.
~Carol D. O’Dell
Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir
Do you feel like there’s just too much to do during the holiday season?
If you’re caregiving or a sandwich gen-er–I’d be willing to bet money that your stress levels are ramping on up there about now. .
It’s not that it’s not all good–the tree, the gifts, the home baked cookies, the parties, the family gatherings, the lights…
Every one of those holiday components are wonderful–the fresh smell of the tree, the wonder of what’s in that big, sparkly-wrapped box…
Yhen, the proverbial “soup pot” boils over and the cookies burn, you don’t want to go to one more red-sweater party (or there are no parties and you feel empty), and the whipped cream on top of the hot chocolate–someone says/does something really ugly…you feel like your head’s going to explode you’re so mad.
And then, there’s the unexpected element of grief that creeps into the holidays. We can’t help but miss those who are not there. This sorrow can feel like a wedge between the here and now.
Not exactly what you had planned…
All the good becomes too much.
If you want a good laugh, the Thanksgiving segment of Boston Legal will make you snicker (you can watch it online).
Around the holiday table is Denny Crane, (played by William Shatner) who has Alzheimer’s, so he’’s always good for a few inappropriate remarks, Alan Shore, his best friend (played by James Spader--he could read to me alll night) decides to deliver a lawyerly rampage on American politics…and the other players all pitch in their own prejudices, stereotypes, and funny banter that will make you WISH your family was this witty in their all too familiar digs.
It all winds up (after a really big fight) in the kitchen with Denny thoroughly confused. Christmas, time, memories, love–it’s all too much. The small moment winds up being a long hug between two old friends.
But of course, you can’t just leave it like that–on a sweet note–no!
Just like at your house, (or mine)–someone has to take it too far and someone really does get their feelings hurt.
It happens. We’re human, and no one, no one can push that exact right button to make you go off than someone who shares your same DNA.
My other Christmas funny movie is the classic “Christmas Vacation” with Chevy Chase. We still kid about his aunt wrapping up the cat and trying to give it as a gift–and then she sings the National Anthem instead of offering a blessing. My mother actually did that once–so we all went with it–hands on our hearts and belted out our national pride.
All you can do is spike the egg nog and go with it. Christmas and the holidays can bring out the beast in all of us. But if we look really close and think small, we might find something of value
My only advice is survive. Any way you can. Just envision that Last of the Mohican’s guy about to jump into the waterfall and telling the love of his life. “No matter what, I will find you. Survive!” This is what I tell myself when I’m really stressed. (FYI guys, All and I do mean ALL girls love that scene).
If you’re caregiving, think really small. Hot tea and a cookie while sitting in front of a fire might be just enough.
Choose one thing–whether it’s riding around looking at lights or baking Italian wedding cookies from your great aunt Sophia’s recipe–pick one thing that means Christmas to you–and do it. Don’t get hung up on what doesn’t get done, and what gets screwed up.
The perfect Christmas/Hanukah/holiday is really more than the human race is capable of.
Zero in on what is most sacred, most precious to you. That’s all that matters.
For me, it’s going to hear the Edward Water’s choir sing. They’re amazing, and sitting in a tiny chapel with warm wood walls and stained glass windows while 20+ college students belt out the Carols with soul and spice is the perfect way for me to celebrate the season. I attended last year, and tears streamed down my face–I clapped and sang and felt more in touch with the season that I had in years.
Each of us have to find our own way, find what hoiday moment touches our heart and lifts our spirits.
~Carol O’Dell, author of Motheirng Mother
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
As I was caregiving my mother, I couldn’t help but observe my mother’s words and actions.
If you live with someone, talk and listen, you begin to notice patterns. The same old things get said day in and day out. We’re all such creatures of habit. As my mother continued to age, she lost her ability to filter her thoughts or hide her fears.
It got me thinking about where I am now…and who I will become.
What concerns will linger and play and replay like a needle stuck on a record?
What judgements will slip out when I am too tired or too sick to guard them?
I’ve decided that I better do a little “soul keeping” every day.
Like housekeeping, it’s best to take out the trash and do the dishes on a daily basis–
if not, the place begins to stink.
I doubt we’re much different.
From Part I of Mothering Mother.
I have this theory; I’ve decided Mother is like concentrated orange juice. We all are, really. We start out potent, tart and pure—right off the tree. When we’re babies we don’t care if you like us or if we’re pleasing you. We are uncontaminated, unfiltered, and unadorned, with no knowledge of what we should or should not do. In this concentrated version, we are a wild DNA cocktail of mama and daddy, ancestors and humanity, naked and wordless.
Instincts—eating, drinking and bodily functions—drive us. We search for satisfactory ways to please ourselves. We propel toward our uncertain futures with blind self-adoration, and for those first few months, maybe a year or two, we are our life in its most concentrated form.
During the next seven or eight decades we become diluted, filled up with waterous thoughts, language, expectations, and experiences. We gain the ability to somewhat satisfy ourselves in every arena from sex to career.
Our other goal is to avoid pain as much as possible. We wail at the slightest bit of emotional, spiritual or physical discomfort. We become bloated, self-aggrandized, and then, when we finally figure out how to make things go our way—most of the time—life takes its final turn, and we begin to deflate.
As our mates leave us, and our friends and family trickle into nursing homes or relatives’ homes, we realize that all we’ve built up is beginning to dissolve. We lose our water and distill, leaving concentrated versions of ourselves, only now we have memories, fears, hates and hurts thrown into the concoction.
Mother is at this final stage during which we all reduce to our own cosmic juice and revert back to some pretty potent pulp. She is no longer interested in betterment, learning or growing. She is tart, almost bitter, and that makes it hard to want to spend time with her. She doesn’t seem to have the ability or inclination to be nice. It’s all about her now, and it doesn’t matter whether I have a hangnail or a tumor; it wouldn’t register.
Whatever Mother has accumulated along the way is now strong and unpleasant to those of us who live in a watered-down world. I see the things that remain. She can recall a moment of jealousy or disappointment from forty years ago and gnaw on it for days. Most of the actual events, people, and moments she once held so tightly are now forgotten.
I now understand something: we are what we are; the only way we can add to ourselves is by experiencing something powerful enough to alter our belief system. If Mother were naturally trusting, she would continue to trust. But since fear has become so entwined, it’s now a part of her concentrated self and must play itself out to the end.
I’m Carol O’Dell.
Got a caregiving question? Email me at Caring.com/family advisor .
Your situation–and your question might help others.
What makes a good conversation?
Two people who want to talk–and listen. Sometimes, they use words, but a conversation can consist of a glance, a the touch of
a hand–it’s about connection.
You can’t force it, and if you try too hard, it shows.
The art of conversation starts with you–and what you bring to the table.
The best conversationalists have a great sense of emotional intelligence, are easy, approachable, mix humor and poignancy, and can slide from subject to subject at a blink. It’s got a lot to do with a deep sense of confidence. There’s nothing sexier, more alluring, more satisfying than to be with someone who “sits deep in their own saddle.”
Emotional intelligence has been defined as: “An ability to recognize the meanings of emotion and their relationships, and to reason and problem-solve on the basis of them. Emotional intelligence is involved in the capacity to perceive emotions, assimilate emotion-related feelings, understand the information of those emotions, and manage them.”
My middle daughter used to ride horses–and studied the art of dressage.
They call it horse ballet. It’s formal, in many ways, and when people compete at dressage, it’s very fancy–they dress in coat and tails–and a top hat. My daughter’s instructor used to tell my daughter to sit deep in the saddle (this is typically true for all types of horseback riding)–which meant literally to tilt her hips back and down, sink her heels as far down as possible, and plant herself in the saddle. I adopted this metaphor for my own life.
For me, it means to recenter myself, be present, own my own worth and where I am in life so I won’t get “bounced off” at every little bump in the road.
are privileged to be in a conversation with someone like that, then you leave feeling better about yourself–and you don’t even know why.
What’s this got to do with caregiving?
Everything.
When any of us feel our own worth, we attract goodness.
People treat us better because we exude grace and respect–for ourselves and others.
My mother had this–she felt her own sense of worth that Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s couldn’t take from her.
How do you become a good conversationalist?
- Take some slow, deep breaths before you enter a room or situation
- Envision who you will be talking to
- See the two of you at ease–engaged in a natural conversation
- If it’s an important conversation, plan out 2-3 points–no more
- Really listen. Pay attention to what they repeat, to their body language, to the way their face changes at certain thoughts
- Don’t play psychologist–no one likes to be analyzed
- If it’s a casual conversation–a dinner, get together with friends, then relax and be yourself. Don’t worry about every little word. Let others talk, but a little over-talking-interrupting is normal when things really get rolling. Forget how you look or trying to sound deep or witty and just trust your natural instincts.
- Don’t play the “one up” game–that’s when they tell story about being st or hurt–and then you ”one up” them by telling a story about something worse that happened to you
- Ask open ended questions–ones that can’t be answered with a “yes” or “no”
What about those difficult conversations–the one you need to have with your loved one?
Caregivers and family members have to eventually ask their loved ones some tough questions:
- Have you thought about what you’ll do if you can’t continue to live in your own home? Have you made plans?
- I think it’s time for us to plan for the time when you’ll no longer drive. Now that doesn’t mean you can’t still live at home or enjoy your same activities, but can we talk about some alternative transportation?
- How do you feel about a living will? Do you know what that is? If not, I can explain it to you.
- You remember we went to the doctor’s last week, and the doctor said you have Alzheimer’s. Do you have questions? I’d like to talk about how best to help care for you…
- How do you feel about hospice? Would you rather stay at home and have hospice here–or at a hospital?
- Have you thought about your memorial service? I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’d like your thoughts–how you’d like to be remembered.
These are difficult conversations, and the most difficult part is just getting started. Think about what scares you the most. Are you afraid they’ll get mad? Shut down? Refuse to ever talk about it again? That you’ll hurt their feelings?
Some conversations need to take place regardless of how uncomfortable it is or how someone might take it. It’s better than dealing with the consequences of NOT talking.
Risk the awkwardness, the fight, pouting, temper tantrum, or silent treatment that may come. If they get mad, let them. If they shut down and won’t talk, wait a few days and then ask again.
Keep asking. Just act oblivious to the fact that they get upset. Contrary to popular belief, you will not die from being uncomfortable.
IIt’s better to deal with the few minutes, hours, days of hurt than to have to make decisions for someone else–and then feel guilt and resentment and wonder if you did the right thing.
This might help kick-start a difficult conversation:
(I’ve actually done this–if you know you have an uncomfortable/difficult conversation coming up–do a dry run. The next time you get in your car, talk out loud and practice your conversation).
Say it exactly as you would if they were in the car with you. You can even add in their part–play out different scenarios–one where they argue with you, whine, cry, pitch a fit…and one where they listen to you, hesitate, but don’t completely discount what you’re trying to say.
Do this dry run several times until you get used to your own words. You need to hear yourself say it. You need the practice–and it really helps!
Get used to talking regularly–about everything. Let them in your life. Ask their opinion even if you don’t agree with them. Tell them your concerns. The more they feel a part of your life, the more they’ll open up about theirs. It’s okay to have differing views. It doesn’t mean you can’t love each other–even democrats and republicans have been known to get along–under the same roof 
The art of conversation can benefit your life as well as theirs.
Nothing feels better than a good conversation. Whether it’s a laughter, tears, banter, stories, or remembering the past, this is what binds us together.
I hope you’ll return for the next blog post. It’ll focus on the hardest of all conversations–communicating with our loved ones when they have Alzheimer’s or dementia or Lewy Body, or a brain injury, or having that last conversation with those we love in their final hours.
Join in the conversation!
I’m Carol O’Dell, author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir, available on Amazon.
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