We Are Our Parent's Keepers
I am my mother's daughter
My husband, Andrea, was born in Rome, where he spent his formative years. In Italy, oftentimes the grandparents live in the home, and so it was with Andrea. He has very fond memories of Grandfather’s wise and calming presence. Likewise, his extended family in Pisa also had their parents live with them until they passed in their 90’s. For Andrea and families across Italy, generational families under one roof is a common and expected part of family life.
I, on the other hand, didn't have any grandparents to speak of. My parents were much older; my Dad was 53 when I was born, and his parents had passed decades earlier. My mom lost her mom when she was a teenager and she was estranged from her Dad. The concept of grandparents in the home was not even on my radar.
Could have done better
Since my dad was considerably older when I was born, my life was ramping up at the same time his was winding down. College had taken me out of state and I decided to put down roots in the city where I went to school. I was starting my adult life: a career in design, a new set of friends and eventually a happy marriage. I’m ashamed to say I was far too focused on myself and oblivious to what was happening to him and in turn, my mom, to be as supportive as I could have been during those years.
When my dad entered a care facility, my husband and I moved my mom into a smaller home. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and I was surprised to see how much less capable she had become. In my mind, I still expected to see the woman who ran a small business and took the bull by the horns. I realize now that we see our parents as we remember them, not necessarily the people they have matured into.
After Dad passed, I thought Mom needed a fresh start, so I encouraged her to get a bit healthier: to start a new diet and to try some sort of exercise. I got her a membership to the Y and sent her inspirational cards and books. She lost weight and was enjoying swimming and socializing at the Y… she seemed happy and it looked as if she had rounded a corner. But I think life living alone got the better of her, and she soon slid backward. She gained back all the weight she had lost and then some. One day she called me to say she had fallen. Worried for her safety, I got her an alarm to wear that would call the paramedics if she needed them. Then there was another fall. And another. Miraculously no broken bones, only a few bruises, but it was apparent she could no longer live on her own.
Life’s tough choices
Unfortunately, shortly before my dad became ill, he had canceled his life insurance (“I’m not paying those clowns any more money!”). My parents were of modest means, so our choices for my mom were very limited. It was Andrea who suggested and then insisted that she move in with us. Picture this: our son was just born, I was 46, we owned a small business and Andrea traveled internationally approximately 3 months out of the year. Our life was brimming with responsibilities. For my 84-year-old mom, this meant moving from the city she had lived in and loved for over 50 years, leaving her longtime friends and relocating 500 miles away to a state she didn’t really like. Together, we became reluctant poster children for the sandwich generation—me with a baby on my hip and my mom in a walker.
The next 13 years were filled with ups and downs. Here I was, caring for a baby in diapers and a mom in pull-ups. I was torn in so many different directions that some days I started out exhausted and counted down the hours until I could crawl back into bed. While my mom could be a very sweet, kind and gracious woman, she also had a rather difficult side, no doubt exacerbated by this upheaval in her life. She took every opportunity that presented itself to tell people how much she missed Tucson, and to complain about her new town and my cooking. Honestly, I heard that to the point it eventually became background noise.
About 4 years into living with us, my mom had a sobering reminder of how lucky she was. Her best friend of 50 years, Annie—who lived alone—fell and was on the floor of her home for 3 days before her son finally found her. She survived 11 more days in the hospital before she succumbed to her injuries. My mom was devastated. My heart broke for Annie, how scared and alone she must have felt and how terrible those last days of her life must have been. What saddened me most was how entirely preventable this incident was. No matter how difficult my mom could be, I took great comfort in knowing she wouldn’t go through that. Having her in our home, I was able to monitor her progress, get ahead of issues before they got bad and generally keep her safe.
No doubt this road wasn't the easy path to choose and I didn’t always respond with as much grace as I wish I had. I remember one early morning in particular. It was about 2:00AM, and I heard her yelling for me—Caaaaammmmy!—so I bolted out of bed and darted downstairs, trying to get to her before our son woke up. This was a familiar drill: she would wake up disoriented and call for me, I would reassure her and pull up the covers, and she would go back to sleep. But this time, after getting her settled, the exhaustion was just too much for me, and I sat on the staircase outside her bedroom and cried—frazzled, tired and absolutely tapped out. My son, who was about 12 by then (and who had woken up despite my best efforts), came downstairs and sat down beside me and wrapped his arms around me. It was such a dear, sweet moment. As it turns out, my Mom hadn’t gone back to sleep and that wonderful moment was shattered as she yelled for me again. Caaaaammmmy! My son and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. This is how it went—tears were usually followed by laughter at how bittersweet and oddly funny life can be.
The grand plan
My mom lived to just shy of her 97th birthday. She had made it to a couple milestones she had hoped to see: our son’s baptism, and then First Communion. I remember she mentioned his high school graduation, but we both knew that probably was not in the cards. Although she was bedridden the last 2 years of her life, she was in a cozy, quiet room with a few belongings she loved, she was well tended, and we were always within earshot when she needed something. Because we had converted our home office into her bedroom—and then back again—I’m writing in almost the same spot where she died. At some point, in my younger life, I would've thought this would be really creepy. But now, it gives me tremendous solace knowing she had a peaceful end to life and we were able to provide that for her, right here, where I sit.
We went through a lot with her during those years. A couple of more falls, 5 hospital stays, several surgeries, 5 stints in transition facilities, home medical care issues too numerous to mention…we could fill a book with stories. But after all the trials and tribulations, both my husband and I agree that, without a doubt, we would do it all over again. This was absolutely the right thing to do. My mom was there to care for and nurture me when I needed her, and I, in turn, needed to be there for her. It is indeed the circle of life and rather miraculous at that. When we are babies, our parents have the energy and faculties to take care of us, and as they age and life positions flip, we—as the children—have the wherewithal to take care of them. That’s the grand plan. That’s what families are for. I believe this in my bones to be true.
No person is a burden
I’ve already started to half-tease our son that he may inherit us someday. I can hear people now: why would you burden your son with that? Honestly, I think this mindset of parents becoming burdens on their children needs to change on both sides: parents should stop framing themselves as burdens and children should stop seeing their parents as burdens. I think we should adopt the wisdom of the old European model of Andrea’s childhood and design our lives accordingly. As the elder parents aged, they wrapped up their lives and moved in with their children, becoming an integrated, generational family.
Not only is there an eloquent beauty in that tradition, but a pragmatic side that can’t be undervalued. Seeing my mom every day, I knew everything about her and was able to advocate for her and direct her care effectively because I was intimately familiar with her current state of being. My husband and I truly believe we sustained the quality of her life simply by taking normal care of her. I’ve often thought if she had been in a nursing home, or—God forbid—out of state, we wouldn’t have been able to spend a fraction of the time we had with her or known enough about the state of her health, and frankly we would have been run ragged ping-ponging between our life and hers. We would have given up much sooner. No doubt in my mind, that would have been the losing proposition.
Over the last 30 years, I’ve gone from being oblivious to being a staunch advocate for taking care (and charge) of our elderly parents and folding them into our lives. I believe this is our duty and we should step up when called. Our parents, who loved and cared for us at the beginning of our lives, deserve nothing less than the same love and care in return at the end of theirs.
