Archives

Father’s Day 2013

Jun16

Another Father’s Day is upon me and I’m missing my daddy. As the years have unfurled since his death in 1998, I’ve learned more about the man he was, the character he had, and the many lives he powerfully and positively impacted in the years he lived.

Age, memories, and experience have helped me understand how precious he was and how important in my life he was. I don’t think we, as children of great parents, can fully appreciate who and what they were to us and others, until we have enough life behind us to really comprehend all that they left to us, for us, both in example and in legacy.

It’s as though one day you wake up to a full understanding of what big footsteps – and both Daddy’s and Mama’s were big – you’re walking in. That’s the most humbling thing I’ve come to realize as I’ve walked through Mother’s Day and Father’s Day this year. I’m not half the person either my daddy or my mama was, but, God willing, my intent and my determination is to aim for the standard they left for me.

Both my parents were capable of, willing to, and showed deep and abiding love, care, and concern all their lives. It was a part of who they were inside. I hear, and am reminded of, stories of their generosity, their open doors, their willingness to give to and serve others. All others. Their home, their hearts, and their service were open to anyone and everyone.

I remember, of course, the many times during my childhood when our houses were full, whether for a meal or for an overnight stay, of whoever needed a family and place to call their own.

I remember each Sabbath and holy day, as long as we attended in Greensboro, NC, Daddy and/or Mama (when Daddy was out of town during the hog cholera outbreaks in the 1970’s) going a bit out of their way to take an older lady to church who didn’t have any other way to get there.

My parents did this because that’s who they were. They were always about taking care of others, no matter what or where or how that presented itself.

They did it with us kids. All of us were adopted. They wanted children, but after Mama suffered several miscarriages, the last of which almost killed her, they decided to adopt. Daddy and Mama knew they had enough love between them to adopt and cherish as their own. And they did. We were theirs. We still are. That will never change.

I’ve thought a lot over the past several months since Mama died about how they parented us. In many ways, it was, at least for me, exactly what I needed. It made the person I am today. I will never be the social hosts they were because of my INTJ temperament, but I am and will always be looking for behind-the-scenes, anonymous, and hidden ways to give and serve like they did.

Mama was the disciplinarian in the family. Consequences for wrong-doing were swift – except in my case, when often I heard “I’m so angry with you I have to get calmed down before I punish you, so go to your room, and I’ll come for you” (I pushed all her buttons and then some – she often told me when I was older that she prayed that I was less stubborn than her, because she never quite believed it) – and physical.

Daddy, on the other hand, hated physical discipline. On the rare occasions that he meted it out, I could always tell that it hurt him way more than it did us. It just wasn’t how he did things.

I’ve said before that with Mama and me, growing up, everything seemed to be a contest of our wills. I was convinced (where in the world I came up with this God only knows!) that physical punishment ended up being about who won. Which meant if Mama made me cry, then she won. If I didn’t cry, then I won. So that was always my goal when Mama was punishing me. To outlast her and not cry. Then I won. 

Most of the time, in my mind, I won. I knew I could outlast the licks of a paddle, a belt, or a switch. But, looking back, I realize that “winning” reinforced a stubbornness that I often have to fight when it really matters to this day. So, in the long run, I didn’t win. I just made things harder for myself.

Daddy, though he never really knew it because I never told him, was a much more effective influence for change in my life.

Daddy’s preferred method of dealing with us kids was to talk to us, to reason, to explain why what we did was either not the best way or simply wrong. The first words out of his mouth were always “I’m disappointed with what you did (or said).” That was always a crushing blow to me because it hit my conscience and my heart and my relationship with Daddy.

Then Daddy would explain what was wrong about it and what the right way should have been. This reinforced, even though I often stared at the wall above his head as he talked and tried to maintain my best poker face throughout his explanation so he wouldn’t know I was listening or cared about what he said (I always was and I always did – a lot), my sense of letting Daddy down.

He’d believed in me, trusted me, depended on me, and I failed him. And that was unacceptable to me and it prodded a lot of change in my growing up years. Even though Daddy didn’t know it because I didn’t let him know, he was often the catalyst for real changes in me growing up.

Daddy was my conscience and Mama was the enforcer. Together, I hope and pray, they raised three kids who look, act, walk, talk, and are like them. They followed God and Jesus Christ to the best of their ability and they raised us to do the same. They didn’t preach it. They lived it. That is and was the best example of the Christian walk.

Today, I’m trying to live it too, as they did, following in the same footsteps of God the Father and Jesus Christ. I fall short way more than I succeed some days, but I’m not quitting, just like they never quit.

I am grateful for their examples, flawed like mine, but on the balance more positive and right than negative and wrong, and I can’t wait until we all see each other again completely healed physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

That will be a Father’s Day to remember!

 

You Will Never Be the Same Again

Jun12

Caring for a loved one with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease changes us. This, I believe, is one of the most unrecognized aspects of going through the journey of these diseases with loved ones.

I know with my mom, who had vascular dementia, Lewy Body dementia, and Alzheimer’s Disease as well as suffering from congestive heart failure, I changed throughout the course of our journey together, perhaps as much or more, in different ways, as she did. 

And now that she’s gone, it’s difficult for me to imagine that person that I was before all this started. That person in that configuration is gone. In some ways, that’s good, because that previous iteration of me had some flaws that needed mending, ideas that needed changing, and attitudes that needed correction.

In other ways, though, it’s challenging. Caregiving is a 24/7 job, especially as the diseases progress and the changes become more rapid and more intense, requiring every bit of time, effort, and diligence on our parts to ensure our loved ones are safe and comfortable.

Because of the nature of dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease, this is a long, extended high-alert, always-alert, always-ready position for caregivers. It becomes who we are and it reflects the tenor of our lives.

And then one day, it suddenly stops. Adjusting to that abrupt and radical change is, in my opinion, of all the things caregivers do in the course of taking care of loved ones, the hardest part.

I think of it as being in a car going from 120 mph to a dead stop within the time it takes to snap your finger. In some ways, it’s like the aftermath of a high-impact car crash that you walk away from.

I have learned, though, that unless you’ve walked in the shoes of caregiving day in and day out for someone you love with dementias and/or Alzheimer’s Disease, it’s very hard to relate to what the now-defunct caregiver is going through in this post-caregiving phase. It’s not that other people don’t want to understand. It’s just that they can’t really if they haven’t been through it.

There is a tremendous sense of being lost. Because loving caregiving requires such a high investment all the way around, when that ends, there’s a sense of purpose, usefulness, and worth that ends with it.

There’s a sense of wandering around aimlessly while the rest of the world around you is going on as it always has. There is a sense of not belonging anywhere, to any time, or any place. It seems like no matter what you do after that, it’s meaningless, compared to what you were able to give your loved one.

My guess is that will be something we carry somewhere inside us the rest of our lives. It’s just part of the change.

Another change will be that you’re more observant and helpful, especially around elderly folks. Not long ago, I volunteered to help during a cookout at a rehabilitation hospital. One of the things I was doing was helping people to the tables, some of which were on concrete and some of which were on grass.

There was an elderly woman with a walker who clearly had balance issues, and although there were staff members around, no one seemed to realize that as she was walking on the sidewalk toward a table in the grass, she was precariously close to the curb and all it would have taken is just a second for her to have lost her balance, fallen and hurt herself. Visions of Mom flashed in my brain and I ran over to help make sure she got where she was going safely.

Greater compassion toward and protectiveness of those who are vulnerable, as our loved ones suffering from dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease are, will be another change that occurs.

A friend of mine who works as a beautician in a senior care facility wrote on FacebookChange the other day about getting cursed out by an 88-year-old woman who didn’t want the shampoo rinsed out of her hair.

Almost immediately, the insensitive and disrespectful comments started. One person said that she would have sprayed the elderly lady in the face if she had cursed at her.

I got very angry. That could have been my mama they were talking about. I sent a private message to my friend explaining that the lady probably had some form of dementia and/or Alzheimer’s Disease and didn’t even know what she was doing and would have probably, given her age, never done that in her right mind. 

And the biggest change will be that your life will never be the same. You will never look at anything the way you looked at it before you embarked on the caregiving journey with your loved one. At a core level, you’ve changed.

And your biggest challenge will be figuring out what to do with that to go forward, to make the experience count, not just for your loved one, but everyone else, in whatever small way you can, that your life intersects with until the day that you draw your last breath.

And you’ll find it’s a very solitary, lonely journey. But like all the journeys you’ve been on up until now, it’s a necessary one. It will take a lot of patience and gentleness with yourself. It will take time. Most of it will be arduous.

But the most important thing I can pass on to you is not to quit and keep putting one foot in front of the other, even if for long stretches it seems you’re walking in place. Sooner or later, as long as you’re moving, eventually it will be in forward motion.