Yes, the one who is chronically ill, or terminally ill...the one being Cared-For.
I know mom felt it often...would repeat a common refrain to each of us... I'm so sorry you have to be here... I wish I wasn't taking you away from your families... I hate being a burden...
Guilt.
Right in the middle of our pancreatic cancer journey, an article caught my eye in the Womans Day magazine (we happened to be frequenting doctor offices and hospitals alot about then, plenty of time to catch up on our reading!). It was titled "Tender Loving Care." And it shared the story of one families journey, 3 generations and one illness...the elderly mother was the Cared-For. Her daughter the Caregiver, and her granddaughter the Supporter. It is so perfectly appropriate to share again, right here... the perspective of the Cared-For...
I am the cared-for
by Phyllis Greene
It is better to give than to receive. We have heard that cliche for so long that we don't really hear it when it's said. But once you accept that you are old and needy, those words hit you in the face - how you wish you could still be the one who is giving. I am 91 years old, in bed full-time now, and my heart is giving out. I am thrice blessed with grown children who give and give to me: Bob, D.G., and Tim give me care and love and constant devotion.
My sons live out of town and visit whenever they can; we are forever on the phone, talking about what's going on with them and with me. My daughter D.G. lives 15 minutes away and is on daily duty. She is not only my "designated daughter" or caregiver, but also my rock and my salvation. Every time she finds a new book at the library for me or buys me flannel nightgowns or chooses a gift for me to give someone who's celebrating an occasion, she does it with a smile. We have fun together and our bond is strong, made of honesty, trust and mutual admiration. But - and I know she will protest this - I infringe on her time, on her work, on her life. And I feel terribly guilty about it.
I try in small ways to relieve the guilt - to be the pitcher instead of the catcher - like subscribing to a family cell phone plan for D.G. and me with 500 minutes to talk, of which I use 5. Can talking on the phone make it easier for her when she can't visit her daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren in California?
She visits me every day - at the expense of the rest of her life. Caught in the vise, in the middle of the family, in the middle of the country, D.G. tends to me needs in Columbus, Ohio, while missing those two adorable grandchildren on the West Coast. I wish with all my heart that she would get on a plane and go to see them more often. I promise that I won't fall or get sick(er), as I've done in the past when she's gone away. Please go, I think. But what if, despite every precaution, something bad happens? (Again.) She will feel worse than ever. And guiltily, even selfishly, I am relieved when her plane touches down and she is back home, nearby.
Living into your 90s is not all it's cracked up to be. There are down days, when I am lonely and bored. But there are more good days than bad, days when I look out my bedroom windows and see blue skies smiling at me. And I can smile back, thinking, Just give me another season, or a season after that, or a season after that...
"Every day is a fresh beginning; listen, my soul, to the glad refrain," goes the quote by 19th-century poet Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. How miraculous, at 91, to still believe you can start anew. Less a race now, more a hobble, my life retains its luster through the love of friends and family. Love I can still give heartily.
And heartily receive.
Phyllis Greene and her daughter, D.G. Fulford have written a book about their experiences. It is called Designated Daughter: The Bonus Years with Mom.
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