In the closing paragraph of The Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Caregiving, I say, “…this is what I know to be true. I really am okay. And you will be, too.”

Since writing the book, I’ve been spending more time exploring what “I’m okay” really means. Well, actually, what “I’m better than okay” really means. A lot of it focuses on rediscovering who I am after releasing long-held identities as a caregiver, and (yes, I’m that old) as an employee. Big stuff. BIG stuff.

Of course, this will be different for everyone, but, just like caregiving, there are always common threads that run through the experience. And also just like caregiving, this is a journey made richer by traveling with friends like you who find yourselves on the same road.

So, here’s the plan. We’re going to do some exploring, tap into our creative side, and gather up big handfuls of joy. Along the way, I’ll share my own low-budget journey of self-discovery, art and writing prompts that go deep, inspiring conversations with women just like us, and tons more goodness.

Of course, there’ll still be lots of support and encouragement for those still walking the caregiver path. You are, and always will be, my people. Just think of this as a mini-retreat where we open ourselves up to possibility, and embrace the potential for what comes next.

Let Go: Because You’re Worth It

As caregivers, it seems we’re always taking on more and more, which just adds to our already crazy stress level. So, what can we let go of to lighten our load? Here are a few suggestions from my own experience.

Being nice, no matter what. Strive to be kind, but nice is not always possible. Sometimes, you just have to speak your truth.

Relationships that aren’t working. People change. Needs change. Sometimes, stepping away is the healthiest thing, even if it’s only temporary.

Expectations of how others should act. That is a guaranteed misery maker. Am I right? You can only control your own actions, and even that’s tough, sometimes.

Second-guessing decisions. The reality is that caregiving often puts you in heartbreaking, no-win situations. Don’t beat yourself up. You can only work with what you have.

Trying to be the perfect caregiver/daughter/partner/sister. Who you are is good enough. Let me repeat. Who you are is good enough.

Worrying what others think. I stopped giving a rat’s patootie about this early on. No one has walked in your shoes, and there will always be “judgers,” no matter what you do.

Trying to fix everything. This was a hard one for me. Despite your love, concern, and efforts there are simply some things that can not be fixed.

Even if your choices are different than mine, it’s clear that letting go begins with the belief that caring for ourselves is just as important as caring for a family member.

What are some of the things on your list?

 

“Why I Wake Early”

“Why I Wake Early 
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.”
― Mary Oliver

Covering My Bases Since 1959

A moment from the past. Is it any wonder that caring for my parents in their later years, and writing a book about it, was the natural thing to do? Many thanks to the Florida School System for eventually teaching me the difference between “to,” “too,” and “two.”

What Makes Herbs & People Grow

You can take the girl out of caregiving, but you can’t take caregiving out of the girl. Right now, there are nine different herbs planted in pots on my back porch. They have names like Rosy, Cilia, and Dilly – all decidedly female, even Reggie One and Reggie Two, the oreganos. I talk to these gal pals throughout the day, giving them reassuring little leaf rubs, keeping them hydrated, looking out for leaf blight, and offering lots of reassurance. This, of course, could be considered either crazy or endearing, depending on whether you embrace a bit of woo-woo in your life. The thing is, they look like they’re smiling, and that delights me.  This, coming from the person who, years ago, told new plants, “I hope you stick around, but there are plenty more where you came from.”

Digging deeper, I’m figuring out this goodness stems from being open to embracing new ideas and practices that inspire and sustain me. Exactly what I want for YOU, beginning with this essential truth. Whether currently a caregiver or a perennial – you, me, and the thriving plants on my deck have something in common. Like them, we can grow. We can bloom. We can flourish. What it takes is our encouragement, our attention, and our kindness to each other.

————–

What or who inspires you?

Is there a creative activity you’d like to try out, or get back into?

What is your favorite thing to do when you have a little time?

(If it’s “sleep,” I suspect you’re in caregiver mode.)

 

From Caregiver to Perennial

Welcome! If you’re visiting my little patch of virtual soil, it’s probably safe to say that you’re a Caregiver. And because your identity is securely tethered to that role, it’s hard to keep the parts of yourself alive that have nothing to do with caregiving. You know – the painter, the quilter, the photographer, the writer, the crafter, the gardener – to name a few.

Well, now we’re going to explore a second possibility, as well – that you’ve come through caregiving, or another kind of soul-changing experience, and are wondering who you are or who you want to be in this new life of yours. You are what I call a Perennial. Someone strong enough to survive the winters of your life, and blossom with each new spring and summer, and in the fall – ready to reflect on the past and sow your hopes for the future.

No matter which of these descriptions resonate with your amazing self, you’ve come to the right place.

Here’s the plan. We’re going to do some exploring, tap into our creative side, and gather up big handfuls of joy. Along the way, I’ll share my own low-budget journey of self-discovery, art and writing prompts that go deep, inspiring conversations with women just like us, and tons more goodness.

Of course, there will always be lots of support and encouragement for those walking the caregiver path, because nothing will ever change the fact that You. Are. My. People. Just think of this as a mini-retreat where we open ourselves up to possibility, and embrace the potential of what comes next.

—————————-

Still not sure? Here’s a little Q & A to help you decide.

Will it be mouthy and good-humored? Uh, hello, it’s me.

Open and honest? Still me.

Positive and hopeful? Yes, more please.

Fun, yet practical? As a bohemian soul with a bean-counter’s brain, count on it.

 

YOU’RE ALLOWED TO FEEL RELIEF

Last year, a dear friend of mine lost her husband of 36 years to colon cancer. She’d been his caregiver for half their marriage, yet they had a relationship to envy. No discussion was taboo between them. Honesty was valued and expected. He was her advocate, her cheerleader, her defender, and she was his. They could make each other laugh, even during the darkest times. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t the stuff of Hallmark movies, but as she would tell me now and then, “He’s so damn hard to stay mad at.”

When he died early one morning, asleep in the bed that hospice had brought him, she called me a few hours later in tears, “He’s gone, and I feel relief.”

Her words made perfect sense to me – an honest reflection of the duality of life when caring for someone we love. Seeing them hurting, declining physically, and, in some cases, mentally, is often the hardest part. But, when their pain is gone, our sorrow is tempered slightly, because we know they’ve been released and are finally safe.

Even with that said, there have been too many times when I’ve heard caregivers apologize for speaking this feeling aloud – maybe for fear of being judged by the listener, or by themselves. Then, it becomes one more burden for someone already dealing with a heavy heart.

So here’s the takeaway, dear friends. Relief is a natural  reaction to grief, stress and worry. It doesn’t mean you loved the person any less. It doesn’t mean you wouldn’t do anything for them if they were still alive. It doesn’t mean that you won’t continue to experience a deep sense of loss. It means you’re human.

Feel what you feel without guilt, shame, or second-guessing – because this is how the healing begins.

 

 A painting of mine entitled, “Tending to Our Grief”

You Might Be a Caregiver If…

As most of you know, every month, I am privileged to facilitate a writer’s group specifically for caregivers. One of our members, Terry, wrote a piece that goes to straight to the heart of what it’s like to be on this journey, and she has graciously allowed me to share it with you.

You might be a caregiver if:

You experience a slight increase in your heart rate when you recognize the caller id is your loved one’s assisted living facility/nursing home/rehabilitation center

You quickly dart your eyes to your spouse and wordless communication this is ‘one of those’ calls before the caller can complete one of the following phrases: ‘unwitnessed fall’, ‘EMS is on route’, ‘being transported to the Emergency Room

You remind the nurse to be sure your loved one is sent with a jacket even though you know that won’t be enough to keep them warm once they arrive

You can put together a bag of essential items for an extended ER visit in less than five minutes

You can quickly review your planned activities and begin cancelling/postponing them on your way out the door

You have your driver’s license out of your wallet as you walk into the ER lobby

You have a prepared speech for the ER staff (preferred arm to use for a blood draw, needs extra blankets, list of artificial joints/pacemaker/etc.)

You can recite their list of prescription medications, drug allergies and reactions, date of last visit to the ER

You already have a Health Care Surrogate document on file at the hospital

You know which tests they are going to perform before the doctor begins placing the orders

You know you won’t be leaving for at least four hours

You know where every bathroom is in the ER area

You have spent at least two birthdays/anniversaries/holidays in the ER or hospital with a loved one

You have postponed, cancelled or returned early from a vacation (or simply skipped planning one)

You would do it all again, without hesitation, if needed

To caretakers everywhere, keep your chin up and your sense of humor handy. You are very special people and the best advocates for your loved ones. Remember to take care of yourself too.

I had no idea when I wrote this story that my role as caregiver would end eight days later. My mom had a second fall on December 13th and broke her hip. She was transferred to the Sun City Hospice House so they could help manage the increased pain. Once they administered the pain medication, she finally relaxed and went to sleep. She never woke up again and she died peacefully on December 15th with me, my husband, Paul, my cousin, John and his wife, Mary by her side.

———————-

Letting Go & Holding On

During six years as a caregiver for my mother and father, the key ring I carried would no doubt have made a janitor swoon. It held keys to our family home where my father still lived, his old Camry, my mother’s small duplex apartment, her little Hyundai, and a safe deposit key in both their names. My keys included a few for the house, my Camry, a PO box, and several for the business I’d been employed by for over 20 years. All told, about 15 keys dangled from multiple rings attached to a homely metal snap clip from Home Depot. Fashion be damned.

Then my father died. The house was sold, and the car was gifted to Mimi, his amazing home health aide, with our deepest gratitude. After my mother died in 2013, the keys for the house she moved to after my dad’s death were returned to the landlord, my brother got her car, and the safety deposit box, containing only a copy of her Last Will and Testament, was closed out. At that point, it struck me that the keys I now carried were only my own. And as often happens when reflecting on the joys and hardships of caring for those we love, I felt both lighter and heavier at the same time.

Out of that experience, came a book and workshops focused on helping other adult children feel supported and understood both during and after their caregiving journey. It was a way to grieve the loss of my mom and dad, while holding them close through the stories I shared.

Fast forward to the end of last year when, after much upheaval, I left the job that no longer sustained me to focus on writing and speaking full time. Walking out of the office and turning over the keys to my replacement, I thought of my parents, and hoped they would approve.

So, here I am once again, holding that same shabby key ring, but now it represents a new life filled with promise and possibility. No more steady paycheck, or health insurance, or a presumably “secure” future, but there is a lightness to my spirit that wasn’t there before.

“LET GO” has become my mantra for 2018, starting with the long-held identity of “employee;” but come what may in the years ahead, a daughter I will always be.

 

This perfect photo by Ylanite Koppens from Pexels