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When our home became a multigeneration family household, I found that the clutter factor exploded. I did want my mom to move in with us–I was glad to have her–but I didn’t realize that she wanted to keep every wadded up ball of aluminum foil and every plastic bowl or plate she had saved from a frozen meal! Along with the family photographs and heirloom came ten pounds of crap. Pardon my language, but what else do you call it? Standing in my kitchen and surrounded by more boxes than a U-Haul could hold, I found myself on the verge of tears. How could I manage a house of seven people, two dogs, and a cat? I had to somehow tame the mess, feed and nurture them all–including me. Little did I know that clutter came hand-in-hand with caregiving.

7  Tips to Tame the Multi-Gen Clutter:

  • Throw things out when they’re not looking. You have to. If not, you’ll drown on VHS tapes, plastic cups, and magazines from the 80’s.
  • Create a video/dvd/cd archive. Hire your teen or college kid to scan in your photos and then store–or ditch those paper copies. Make a back-up disk and give copies to other family members. Do you know that I have over 20,000 photo scanned now? Crazy.
  • Create centers–places where things go–and then become the enforcer! All coats in the hall closet–not draped over the chair. Have a homework center, medicine center, library book center and  video game center. Be a stickler about making sure everyone puts their items in the centers.
  • Instill a 5 minute clean up time–and do it several times a day. Everybody pitches in–and be sure to do it before bedtime. 5 minutes times 5 people is the equivalent of you doing a 25 minute clean-up alone.
  • Tell yourself it’s for a season. Face it, seven people, seven times seven. You’re just going to have to deal with some of the clutter. Having my mom’s knick-knacks sit around wasn’t exactly my choice of decorating style, but it gave her a sense of home–and that matters more. Today, my mom is gone, and I’ve completely decorated to my taste–but I miss my mom.
  • Choose one surface that will always stay nice. Put flowers on your dining room table and forbid anyone’s junk/medicine bottles/backpacks/mail, water bottles, etc., fill your one serene space.
  • Your bedroom–your sanctuary. Don’t let your bedroom or bath become the dumping ground. Paint one wall a soothing color. Get a new bedspread and decorate your sidetable with things you love–good books, magazines, mints, pens, and few photographs you love. You may not be able to control the whole house, but your sacred space is vital to your sanity, and to your heart.

Stuff is just stuff.

Family is infinitely more important. But you have to be able to locate them…in the midst of the clutter!

Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother, available on Kindle

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Cooking for my elderly mom was a lot like cooking for a fussy toddler. She wanted to eat what she wanted to eat–and that could fluctuate at any given moment. I tried to make her happy, I really did. Caregiving and cooking is a daily challenge, not to mention a battle of the wills. Little Debbie’s and Klondike bars were about the only thing that would make her face light up into a smile. I used to let it get to me, then I figured hey, she’s 92 years old–she has earned the right to eat what she wants! Besides, I should worry (focus is a better word) more about what I’m eating than what she’s eating!

While I didn’t blame her for going for the sweets, (who wouldn’t?) the problem was, I did the ole’ “one for you and one for me.” Before I knew it, I had gained over 30 pounds! It took patience and experimentation, but I finally learned how to cook and eat in a healthy way–and still fit it in with my crazy chaotic caregiving day.

Tips I Learned About Cooking and Caregiving:

  • Get a couple of sizes of Calphalon pans (not the nonstick type–avoid Teflon for health reasons). It’s quick and easy to pan cook your meats such as fish, chicken, pork or beef–for fast cooking and so you can do several things with your chicken breasts, pork chops, etc.
  • Start the day with a good breakfast. Yes, I sound like your mom did when you were a kid, but it’s true! Not only do our elders typically enjoy breakfast food, they tend to be hungry first thing in the morning–and breakfast is an easy clean up meal. Go for eggs or oatmeal, always have some fruit, and even enjoy a slice of bacon (it’s actually not too bad for you!)
  • Consider eating a hearty lunch–or even doing the whole 2 meal plan. I grew up with retired parents and we ate breakfast at 10 and dinner at 4. It worked out great–and clean up was early in the evening.
  • Take that chicken breast you’re cooking for mom, cook some rice in some chicken stock, add a few carrots, a slash of parsley and garlic, ( found my mom got to where she didn’t like spices that much) chop that breast into easily chewed pieces and your mom has a hearty and comforting lunch/dinner.
  • Take the second chicken breast and chop it over a bed of greens (by that, I mean spinach or kale–go for the hearty greens) chop some red peppers, purple onions, boiled egg, some feta or goat cheese and you have one great salad–mix a bit of dijon mustard with a splash of balsamic vinegar and honey, heat it 20 seconds in the microwave and you have a great hot dressing. If it’s winter and chilly, saute it in your pan for a warm dinner and serve with a sweet potato–and you’ve got one nutritionally packed meal.
  • K.I.S.S. Keep it Simple, Sweetheart. Any great chef (such as my hero, Tom Calicchio of Top Chef) will tell you, keep it simple. Use a few fresh, colorful, quality ingredients–and let the flavors wow you.
  • Get mom those 100 calorie snack packs for cookies (if you can stop yourself) and keep her snacks back in her room. If she stops eating her meals and is loading up on the goodies, either remove them or don’t worry about it. When you’re 90, do you still have to follow the food pyramid? Really? I think not…
  • Dinner should be the lightest meal of the day. That’s why God made canned soups. Enjoy tomato soup or black bean soup–and follow it with some Greek yogurt with a drizzle of honey in it. You’ll feel like you had dessert.
  • Take your vitamin D and other supplements–walk 20 minutes a day (2–10 minute walks are great) keep handweights nearby for a bit of strength training. Along with a decent night’s sleep (I know, not always possible!) and you’ve got the basics of a healthy lifestyle.
  • Think about yourself–a lot. Sounds crazy, I know.  But caregiving takes up so much of your time and energy–and that’s okay–but you’re responsible for what goes on between your ears. Buy books to help you with you. Go to the library and check out some health books of CD’s such as Dr. Amen’s Change Your Brain, Change Your Life.
  • Pick one part of your body and just work that out. Do lunges down the hall. Do 10 sit-ups (girlie kind, half way) a day-no more. If you like wearing sleeveless tops in the summer, then lift handweights while the commercials are on. Don’t worry about the rest of the package–you’ll have great arms!
  • Eat only what you love–but learn to love the good stuff. It’s almost cherry season and I have every intention on gorging myself  with fresh cherries. How bad can it be for me? They’re only good (and relatively inexpensive) for a few short weeks, so why not indulge myself in something that I love? My new favorite foods are Fage Greek yogart, goat cheese (I eat it on everything I can think of) and a great Riesling–I only have that once a week, but what a treat! Life is too short to fill my body with processed crapola. In the words of L’Oreal….I am so worth it! (paraphrase :))

It’s easy fall into the zombie mind of caregiving–but along with that comes in tow some baaaaad eating habits. Keep it simple. Learn to love the good stuff. And remember…good food, good family times–does life get any better?

Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother, available on Kindle

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Now, don’t get upset. I’m not calling you a lousy caregiver, but now that I’ve got your attention, what makes a good–or a lousy caregiver?

So how should we treat those who need a little extra care? How do we show them the respect they deserve? When we get tired, aggravated or frustrated, how do we act? Do we get snippy? Manipulate? Use the silent treatment? Do we bully them into doing what we want? What do we neglect to do when we’re tired? How do we solve conflicts? How do we self-correct?

A big issue for caregivers is separating the need for care from the actual relationship. Who wants to “taken” care of? No one wants to be pitied or felt like a cause.

We have so much to learn from each other. There’s a reason why we care for our mothers, fathers, sister, brothers, children, and close friends. When we come together at a point of need–we see the best–and worst in ourselves. It’s an opportunity to learn and grow, but it’s not always easy! (that’s an understatement!)

When we care for our loved ones, we have to remember that caring isn’t just a list of chores or errands. Caring is about, well, caring. Showing that you care encompasses so much more–spiritually, emotionally, as well as physically.

So who’s a lousy caregiver?

A lousy caregiver chooses not to care. A lousy caregiver can live across the country and never call or come to visit–or they can sleep in the same bed with their spouse and never pay attention to what that person really needs. Most people who avoid caregiving are scared. They say they’re busy, not good at it, feel rejected…but in reality they’re mostly scared. Others, a few, cannot feel or empathize with others. They cannot give freely, make the necessary sacrifices, or understand it’s a priviledge to care for someone you love.

A lousy caregiver thinks it’s all about them. They have what I call “look at what has happened to me–syndrome.” They gripe and complain so much that they don’t think about what their other “person” has endured and survived. Their myopic view of the world does not allow them to see that the world is so much bigger–and more interesting and complex–than they are. They suck the air out of a room and the joy out of your heart–beware!

A lousy caregiver resents caregiving. All of us have those moments–when we wish life were different–we long for freedom, for time, for a five-minute break. That’s not the same. A truly resentful caregiver is bitter, consumed, and sadly, they won’t let go and allow that care person to find better care.

A lousy caregiver uses their care person. Some lousy caregiver are moochers. They move in, take over, and take liberties with the other person’s finances–in general–they’re users and probably always have been. They seem to find people to take advantage of.

A lousy caregiver is verbally manipulative and can even be physically abusive. It’s scary to think about, but they’re out there. They berate people, jerk them around, bully and trick them, and can even hit, slap, or neglect the very person they are to care for. If you know someone who abuses an elder, go to www.elderabuse.gov and find out how you can help and protect this person in need.

If you’re reading this post about caregiving, I doubt you’re a lousy caregiver. You may have lousy moments–we all do–but if you care enough to read a post about caregiving, you’re not the cold-hearted, abusive person I’m speaking of. 

What’s your idea of a “good” caregiver? What do you value?

The good ole’ golden rule teaches us so much. If you were bed-ridden, lost in the confusion of Alzheimer’s, nauseous from cancer, or couldn’t make it up a flight of steps without help, how would you want to be touched, talked to, and cared for?

All of us have lousy caregiving moments. That’s when we have to dig deep and remember in the deepest part of who we are: we’re caregiving because we really do care.

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Who is an invisible caregiver?

Millions of spouses, adult children and friends who are caring for someone they love–but having to “do it on the sly.” It’s a tough transition, to admit you need care. After decades of being the strong one, the provider, the professional, the hub of the family, admitting that you need help in and out of the bed, in and out of the car, or down the stairs because of a chronic illness, disease, or after surgery can feel like a blow to the ego.  And it’s not who they are. Call is pride, but there’s a time in a person’s life when they aren’t ready to admit they need care. Their worth goes far beyond their need for help.

I met a gal last week who is caring for her husband, but it’s not a label she gives to herself. He has MS and is in a wheelchair. He’s on disability and yet he strives to see himself as he always was–a competent businessman, father, friend and spouse. He is–all those things–but he needs a little help now and then.

They married last year and their devotion and honeymoon love is obvious. They look at each other with such tenderness. She walked into this relationship eyes open. His disability isn’t what she fell in love with–it’s his charm, his wit, and his generous spirit. But his disability is something they have to work around.

She helps him dress–on difficult days. She makes sure his meds are delivered on time and she helps him sort them and reminds him occasionally (wives tend to do that–some people call it nagging but it’s all in the interpretation). She washes his hair. She works her schedule around his so she can accompany him to doctor visits so she can help manage his care. And since he’s prone to infection, she takes extra care to keep their environment germ-free–and keeps masks available for when they’re out in public during flu season.

The other night, he had a fever and decided to sleep downstairs on the couch. He just didn’t have the strength to head upstairs, change clothes and do his normal bedtime routine. She slept in the recliner next to him and checked on him several times that night–to make sure his fever didn’t spike.

Yes, technically she’s a caregiver. But her husband is a young 50 years old,  and his disease takes such a toll on his life and health that she doesn’t want to see him as needing care. He wants to be seen first as a man. That’s how she chooses to see him as well.

There are times when naming something brings a sense of relief–so that’s what it is. The definition helps define us. And then there are times, as in this gal’s case when it changes the relationship. She’d rather be an “invisible caregiver.” She’d rather consider herself his wife, his companion, his confidant.

Caring for a spouse isn’t a role. It comes with “I do.” All the invisible caregivers out there–spouses, children or friends do it out of love and loyalty. They choose to camouflage the care they give in order to keep the emphasis on the relationship–to give their loved one the dignity and respect they deserve.

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“I quit!” I said it more than once when I was caregiving my mom.

And I meant it–the only problem was, I couldn’t figure out what to do with her if I didn’t care for her!

I was an only child. Her sister was older than she was–and her children were taking care of her. I tried to find a care home that wouldn’t break the bank and offer decent care. I couldn’t find one–I was at the end of my rope. (I know more now about how to find care homes and financial possibilities than I did back then).

I felt stuck. My mother was in the darkest trenches of Alzheimer’s. She was mean, didn’t know who I was. She’d try to hit me, kick me, fall, refuse to let me help her. It was rough and the truth was, there was no one but me to do the job.

 I told my husband “I quit.”

 He said, “You can’t.”

Easy for him to be honorable. He got to go to work each morning and leave me in the house with…her!

I “quit” more than once. At least saying it felt freeing, and for a few minutes I could imagine myself not caregiving.

I so wanted to walk out that door, but I knew I couldn’t leave my mother to my husband and children. They didn’t deserve that. I dreaded each day. I resented my family for getting to walk out the front door to jobs and school. It wasn’t pretty. No one wanted to be with me or engage me in conversation–not that I blamed them.

In some ways, my family kept me “honest.” They pitched in, rubbed my back, made dinner, took time to be with my mother so I could nap or stare into space. It was a time in our family that really tested us and showed me how much we needed and supported each other.

Where do you go from”I quit” when you can’t quit? 

There’s pretty much only three choices:

1. You either get help and lots of help (I had help, but keeping help that really helped, well that’s another post).

2. You find a care home–and as I said, you do have more options for free, low-cost, etc., but you need to ask for help and do your research–the care home can help guide you, but don’t just take their word. Check with elder-affairs and other state and community services to fully understand your options.

3. They die. Sounds harsh, I know. But what happened in my situation is that soon after this incredibly dark place, my mom lost her ability to swallow. I considered a feeding tube but decided that at 92 with Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, and heart disease, that keeping her alive through a tube wasn’t something either of us wanted or needed. This occurred over six months or more, but I knew I had to see this through. It was a grueling time for all of us, but a necessary closure.

My decision to not use a feeding tube was not easy by any means. I grappled with this, if this was right, ethical. We brought in hospice, which I was surprised actually supported my decision. I worried about what others would think. I struggled with what this would do to my mother–if it would hurt–would she know? Would she be confused?

Saying “I quit” helped lift the little stopper off the pressure cooker. I had to say it several times–like a drowning man who’s more flailing than drowning–but then it became serious and I really was gulping water.

Seeking solutions (even if they didn’t work out or only helped for a short time) felt like action.

Having others (my family and friends) support me, reach out, and offer their arms to hold me convinced me I wasn’t alone.

And yes, there is a time to find that care home, to admit you’re done for, to allow them to die–if that time has come. Good old Ephesians was right. There’s a season for everything. No wonder this beautiful prayer was offered so long ago:

To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under the sun.
A time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal …
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance …
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to lose and a time to seek;
a time to rend and a time to sew;
a time to keep silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.

ecclesiastes 3:1-8

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Caregiving kicks up family igivssues. It just does. We can think we’re over them. We made amends. Asked forgiveness-forgave–and then we find ourselves back in that vortex of anger and hurt. Are we truly able to let go of a grudge?

We don’t like to admit it, but we like our addictions, and yes, a grudge (hurt) can become an addiction of sorts. We grow accustomed to, feel comfortable and safe with our dramas. Why? Because people fear the unknown. Even when the known isn’t so great.

Grudges. We all have them. Hurts from the past. Times our moms or dads weren’t there for us. Times when our siblings belittled us, took something we wanted for their own. Some wounds are profound. Some of us have been molested, raped, endured physical or verbal abuse. It’s not that we’re trying to be difficult. These are valid. They were and in many ways are knife slashes to our soul. And when it comes time to be a caregiver, these grievances resurface and can get in the way–not only of giving care, if we choose to–but get in the way of our own personal growth and healing.

5  Keys to Letting Go of a Grudge:

  1. Admit you have one.
  2. Admit you’re tired of having one.
  3. Stop negative words from coming out of your mouth–mid-word.
  4. Crowd out those hurtful thoughts. When you catch yourself mulling over the hurts of the past–crowd it out with something else–music, go-online and read some jokes, or call an upbeat friend.
  5. Give your grudge a ceremony. Create a campfire and write your hurts on paper and then burn them, or write them on rocks and place them in a rock garden, do something that signifies that you’re letting go of this hurt–and when you start to say or think about that grudge, remind yourself of that ceremony and tell yourself it’s a done deal. That’s why weddings and funerals are a part of so many cultures–they signifiy new beginnings and bitter-sweet ends.

I was watching the film, What the Bleep Do We Know,and I was reminded by one of their neuro-scientists about the power of our frontal lobes. Human beings have a highly developed frontal region, and this region is our seat of reason. We can decide, change our minds, examine, ponder, and observe–all from this vantage point. If our frontal lobes have been damaged, our ability to decide–anything–whether we’d like toast or a biscuit for breakfast is hampered, if not downright halted. 

Deciding what to do with a grudge is a choice.

Have you ever had something, thoughts that consumed you for years–that are no longer a part of your every day life? That means you’ve moved on–and if you did it once–you can do it again. Somehow, you started to choose to view that hurt (grudge) differently. It lost its “umph” as my mother used to say when a Sprite no longer held a zing.

Grudge sounds so negative–sounds like drudge or dredge. Let’s just call it a hurt we’ve been holding onto for a while. I’m not belittling what has happened to you. I have had some pretty decent size  traumas in my life, so I’m not immune to this topic. I take it very serious. It took me years, years to deal with my hurts. Did you know that sociologist’s have found that it takes about 15 years to work through the issues that come with severe traumas such as dealing with a suicide, murder or rape? That’s a lot of time, but if you’ve ever experienced any of these, you know the physical and psychological toll it took on you.

Why do some people absorb their pain, use it in some  way for the good, incorporate it into their being, and in essence, “move on” when others seem stuck in anger, regret, and seething pain for the rest of their lives?

I don’t know the answer to that.  I don’t think it’s because one person is better or stronger than the other.  I do believe it’s in part, a choice–even when they don’t realize it. I think it’s because the light bulb (understanding, revalation) hasn’t been turned on–yet. It’s part of their journey, and I love the saying, “If I’d-a known better, I’d-a done better.”

But I do know that people are capable of change–great change. Sometimes the shackles that had us so pinned down one day simply fall to the ground. 

For me, I think I wore out my anger and hurt. I got  sick and tired of being sick and tired as Oprah says. My angry, pitiful story of how I was hurt was no longer a story I wanted to tell. I started to observe that people didn’t want to be around me when I was complaining. I could taste my own toxins and I was turned off by what was rolling around in my thoughts and falling off my tongue. 

I began to want to be well. I started by controlling what came out of my mouth. Not easy. Lots of start-overs.  I wrote down my hurts, said a prayer, sometimes burned them on pieces of paper, ready every self-help book under the sun. My awareness and desire to change was at least a start.

There were times when caring for my adoptive mother (who had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s) was difficult. Buttons got pushed and at times, I felt right back in that quagmire of the anger and pain I thought I had dealt with years ago.  But I found that I chose not to stay there, in my complaining, nasty, negative self. I didn’t want my grudge any more. I didn’t identify with that part of my past. It wasn’t that “we,” my mother and me were completely fixed and all was magically erased–it wasn’t, and I didn’t want it to be. I could accept who we were, what we had done to ourselves and each other, and I could see that we were no longer those two same people.

If you’re reading this, then maybe you’re ready to let go of some of that back of the closet crap you thought for some reason you had to hold onto.

It’s a new day when our grudges no longer bring us comfort. A new self is emerging.

~Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother

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For many of us, caregiving a spouse is in our future. We like to not think about it, or at least imagine that it’s a long, long time from now. For many, it’s a daily reality.

According to the Family Caregiving Alliance, there is a much higher likelihood of receiving care from a spouse than from an adult child. 
Nearly one-quarter (22%) of caregivers who are themselves 65+ are caring for a spouse. Personally, I think it’s higher than that.
And it’s not all the women who are doing the caregiving. 
I know lots of men who are caring for their wives through cancer, MS, heart disease and dementia.
 These men have my full respect. The ones I’ve met are kind, thoughtful, and are trying to very hard to give their wives the best of care. I’m sure there are many who are not like this, but I do have to pay homage to the ones who are.

So why does caregiving my spouse scare the bejezus out of me and most everybody else?

 Because my husband is my strength, my rock, the person I can rail against, nag, complain about–but would never want to do without.

Even when he gets the flu, I’m a wreck. I’m projecting into the future, seeing him years from now, weak, and me trying to care for him.

He’s 9 inches taller than me and about 60 pounds heavier than me, and the few times he’s had minor surgery, I’ve seen how difficult it is.

But that’s not it.  We’d find a way to make it work.

It’s not that it’ll be hard, exhausting, or challenging. I cared for my mom through Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. I’m no wimp.

So just why is it so hard to care give a spouse?

I’ll just vent and you pick the one that best fits you:

(some of them don’t paint me in a good light, but I’m being a guinea pig here so that we can all identify with our less than admirable selves)

I don’t want to become his “”mother.” (By that, I mean I want to remain his wife, lover, and friend).

I don’t want to be stuck by his side 24/7–I’m very independent.

I don’t want him to be weak–for me, or him. He’ll hate that.

If you’re sick, then I have to be well? What if I get sick?

Who am I now? How do I define myself?

I don’t want him to order me around all the time–and he will. I don’t want to fight all the time.

I don’t want to cry all the time either.

I don’t want him saying “thank you” a gazillion times a day and feeling guilty.

I don’t want it to be over.

I don’t want to watch him /her  slowly die.

I don’t think I can manage our life and home without him.

I don’t want the fun times to be over–the trips, the banter, the ordinary days.

I don’t want our world to grow small, isolated, and lonely.

I don’t want our world to revolve around doctors and medicine.

I don’t want that time to come when I can’t make him smile.

****

This just starts the list. No one wants any of these things. But until we can admit them, I’m not sure we can move on.

I know that the next step is to take this list and turn it into a WANT list, find the good in whatever life throws me.

I was at a talk for Community Hospice on Saturday at the Mary Singleton Senior Center in Jacksonville, Florida and I told this crazy story about a time when my husband passed out at an amusement park. He said he was dizzy, grabbed his neck and fell stiff as a board onto the gravel road.

I was freaked. I thought he died. And you want to know that first fleeting thought?
“You…(I’ll leave out the colorful phrase), you have died–died and left me to raise three kids? Alone?

I then began to pound on his chest (not CPR, even though I was trained) and yell in his face “Help!” What? As if HE could help us? I did it over and over.

Thank goodness, he started to come to, and then I had another thought…”He’s a narcoleptic! He’s going to be conking out all the time!”

I swear, I followed him, walking three feet behind him like some antiquated Japanese woman (did they ever really do that???) for the next two years.

As if I could catch him.

***

That true, but embarrassing example is a light hearted version of what wives and husbands feel everywhere.

Deep inside we’re all screaming, “Don’t leave me here without you!”

Spousal caregiving kicks up a lot of emotions. Some sweet and sentimental, some down right  self-serving. 

The only thing I can offer is:

  • Talk, talk often. Get used to this conversation so that if something awful happens, you’ll have practiced. Kid around, make jokes, talk about the “what ifs.” Nothing is as scary as an unsaid fear.
  • Tell your loved ones how you want to be cared for. Please, for your family and spouse, sign a living will. They are so, so easy. Go to The Five Wishes and request one or print one out. Don’t make your family guess and then fight or feel guilty because they didn’t know what you wanted–or they all heard something different.
  • Have health insurance, life insurance and long term disability or care insurance. I know the economy is tough, but try to keep these, or seek a governmental equivalent (for health insurance if you qualify). Murphy (as in Murphy’s Law) likes to strike the second you’re unprotected, and caregiving is tough enough without adding the stress of finances.  

If You’re Already Caregiving:

  • Be present. Each day is precious. Even if it’s hard, chaotic, or near the end, it’s a privilege.
  • Keep your blinders on when you need to. There’s a time to think about the future, and a time when this moment, this hour, is all you can deal with. When times get rough, make your life simple, quiet, and don’t go to all those scary places. It’s not the time.
  • Never stop being a spouse. I know that caregiving is a lot of “doing.” Meds, baths, physical therapy, doctor appointments, home health aids…after a while you can forget you’re a married couple. Never ever forget that this is the person you said ” I do” with. At times we have to force ourselves to step out of “Nurse Nightingale (or Nurse Ratchett’s) position and step back into that role that no one, no one but you can fulfill. You’re his sweetheart. You’re her sweetheart.
  • Give  up being perfect. It’s exhausting and impossible. It’s the quirks, the foibles, and the fights that define us. Do the best you can. Forgive yourself when you lose your temper, forget something important, or just can’t do it all. Look yourself in the mirror each night and say out loud, “You did well today. I’m proud of you.”
  • Trust that as grueling and dark as it is, you will find the strength, you will find your way through spousal caregiving. Somehow.

***

At the end of my talk, the very sweet woman had me sign her book. She could hardly talk, she was crying so. Her husband of 54 years has Alzheimer’s. I held her and cried too. I try to give tips and I try to encourage, but I can never convey how deeply I care. Your stories touch my heart, and sometimes, all the advice in the world won’t be enough. 

Caregiving a spouse is so hard. Why? Simple. Because we love them.

~Carol O’Dell, author of Mothering Mother

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