I’m a care giver for an elderly woman and she’s feisty as hell.

A Journal Entry for Caregivers,
and 6 important steps from my point of view.

In the background there are birds and my Grandmother’s muttering. Everything is pissing her off. I’m reminded moment after moment by her trailing off groans that nobody is there for her and nothing has truly worked out in life.

This is not always the case. Sometimes she gasps with awe when she notices a fresh bloom in her overgrown flower patch by the steps. Sometimes she throws her hands up in the air with laughter recounting the time Grandpa caught a giant pike and let it rest tethered to the dock, only to come back and find that a mink had stripped the flesh and it was just a waving spine in the water. Sometime’s the littlest things bring her abundant joy. Sometimes she looks at all of us with shiny eyes of pride.

Somedays she really is in love with everything.

Today is not one of those days. And I can feel my nerves are stinging with claustrophobia and a need for personal space. There is literally nothing I can do. I need to help this woman take lids off of containers. I need to pour glasses of water and help her find her cane when she leaves it in another room. There is nothing I can do in this moment. And yet this moment is so, so, very hot and prickly. I want to scratch it.

She keeps wandering in, insisting that I must be cold, insisting that I must be hungry, insisting realities about our family members that may not be true at all. Just insisting. Fidgeting. Muttering. Groaning. Trying to move objects that her broken hand cannot lift. It truly is bothering me very much.

So, how do I meet this?

What can I do?

6 important steps:

1) Recognize that there is Suffering And it Is Not Just Mine:

Remind myself that this life and it is her life too. Anchor myself into the multidimensional truth of this moment. Remind myself that a life without touching all sides is one of avoidance. I cannot grow when there is avoidance. I cannot grow or be of any use if I become too involved in my own pain that I forget about another’s. Should I become too absorbed in the feeling of my own pain I need to step back from the act of giving care to another and focus on giving care to myself.

2) Anchor into my Truth And That Which Brings Strength 

Remind myself that I have made a personal pact: I have committed my life to holding onto my playful and heartfelt outlook while meeting all that is suffering. This is a deal I struck with my soul. This is true for me. This is my unshakable foundation holding up a house of cracks and splinters of light. If my heart were a home, flowers would stuff themselves out from the foundation and the old wooden beams would rise up, and in the warmth of the sun you can smell the old life of a forest.

3) Remember this is Temporary

Remember that this is temporary, fleeting, and one day I will grasp for these memories. One day I will try so hard to add colour to them and bring them back to life. So just for now, let it wash through me. If tears come, if I become angry, if I start to ripple out laughter, let it all paint this moment fully so that I can remember that much more.

4) Embody Compassionate Understanding

Embody compassion for human life so that I can see with greater understanding and insight. Understanding does not mean I do not feel reactive. To understand why someone has done something, behaves how they do, says what they say, does not create roses and sunshine. Understanding simply, if it can be simple, provides a depth that is true to the nature of life. Understanding creates a melody between moments in the history of a life. Compassion is the harmony. The imprint of feelings that a piece of music has on you is entirely due to how you meet what arises from the symphony. When I apply understanding and compassion to myself, it also helps me identify the roots of my reactivity.

5) Get Present

Get present with my senses. Come back into my own territory. I’m living out of bags right now, in between homes. I do not feel like I have much space at all. So I need to establish a home in myself. I connect to the smell of humid air, the sturdy feeling of my crossed ankles, the cool temperature of my wet hair on my shoulders, the sounds of birds mixed with grandma’s muttering, mixed with cars, mixed with squirrel chatter, mixed with the keyboard, mixed with cell going off as my mom texts me:

“It would be good for you to get out today”

6) Ask for Support and Release Control 

Ask for help, hugs, flowers and moments. Ask for direction. The best thing to do for someone who is helping to look after someone else is to pick them up and take them somewhere nice, to make a plan for them, to lift them up and squeeze them, to carry them off without asking ‘what do you want to do?’. What do I want to do? I don’t care! I could lay in a patch of grass (tick free) for 6 hours and it would be a rockin’ time. Whatever we do just give me quiet space. Don’t ask me to talk about what’s wrong unless I need to. Let me notice the grains of sand on my feet and let me point out how some trees have such a rich green to their leaves. Let it be simple and sweet.

Oh P.S:

Please don’t just kidnap someone and take them somewhere nice. If someone is giving care to another they likely have some frequent obligations. So be respectful with timing. The main point is try to take the lead and help them release control within their control.

And if you are the one giving care, do your very best to ask others to help you make plans, to help you initiate, to help support you by having a simple and sweet time.

….

It’s midday now and I had left my Grandmother’s home a few hours ago to do some errands. Since then, I have stopped by into a few local businesses. I tried to be a normal person about everything. But instead I ended up talking about her nonstop. I had the same discussion with each person I spoke to, leaning on their counters, sighing in their door frames. It become clear, pretty fast, that I’m not the first person to go through this, obviously, and that my Grandmother is not the only elderly person out there who grasps for help while spitting resent for requiring it.

This is actually, incredibly common. I already knew that. When you’re in the vortex of your own worry however, it can be incredibly difficult to see anyone else suffering besides your own. Hopefully, each and everyone of us gets to trudge along an elder who gets brought to their knees, who fights to stay up, who holds on with everything they have to the little thread of vitality that’s still inside of them, who ruthlessly defends their independence with the spirit of a wolverine.

Because it is humanizing.

The other day my Grandma barked at me for asking if she had taken her afternoon medication. Later that evening I leapt from my bed to the sound of a thump and found her on the floor. I slid down beside her and we wept together.

Then I asked her, “Grandma, you know the story of the lion and the mouse?” 

“I forget. Tell it to me.”

So I told her my rendition of the classic tale of the Lion and the Mouse. There are many versions of the Lion and the Mouse from Aesop’s Fables. I’m not sure if the version I know was from a cartoon or passed onto me orally. Either way, in the version I know best, the lion has a thorn in its paw. And he roars and roars and roars. A little mouse comes bounding along and senses fear from the lion. The lion angrily boasts he could eat the mouse but he’s in too much pain too bother. The mouse needs to overcome her timid nature and offer the help that she so clearly can; the thorn is just the perfect size for her tiny paws to extract. The lion considers this ridiculous. But slowly, as the mouse approaches, the lion’s gaze softens to a curious vulnerability. And the mouse sure enough gets the thorn out.

 And then they are friends. 

Grandma gave a soft laugh and said ‘I am the lion, huh?’

and I said “what do you think?”

and she said, “well. What else can you do.”

The elderly who roar at their caregivers do need the help. And the caregivers need to face the roar. It’s not personal. And at the same time, it is. Very. 

To give care while another becomes increasingly more dependent for the first time since they were a child is incredibly difficult. It’s treacherous. It’s deep. It’s human and simple.  And it is one of the most noble, trying and selfless acts a person can offer. 

Even if for a short time. Even if it’s just a thorn.

A personal note about my personal note:

This reflection provides just one piece of a whole. Please refrain from offering me or my family advice unless we reach out and ask for it. We’re going through a process. This is a general rule of thumb for anyone who is in this process as well. I am humbled you have taken the time to read this.

In deep kindness, 
Maxine