time we got home from the hospital. What an awful place to have to go!"
For a moment, I simply stared at my sister. Then I looked at my dad's sad, pain-laden eyes. Mystified by my sister's selfishness, shock quickly escalated into anger as I tried to comprehend her words and attitude.
Seething in utter disbelief, I turned from my sister and focused on my parents.
After a deep breath I said, “While she goes to get your medication, I think we need to talk for a few minutes. I have a couple of questions for you.”
Mom slowly walked into the living room and with the aid of her new lift-chair, lowered herself to the same level beside my dad. I chose a seat across from them where I might observe their reactions to our discussion. My self-centered, exhausted sister apparently forgot her intention to go to the pharmacy and moved a chair as close as she dared.
I never anticipated being in such an uncomfortable position and tried not to fidget as I said, “Taking care of everything around here seems kind of overwhelming for you both now. I think we may need to make some adjustments to give you a little extra help. What do you think?”
Exhausted Teresa interjected, “Oh yes, they need help! You just have no idea how much help is needed around here!”
Ignoring her in order to maintain my rapidly diminishing composure, I looked at my parents and waited for a response.
After a moment of contemplation my dad answered, “Yes, I think your mother could use some help with laundry, changing bed linens, bathing, and maybe a few other things.” That was my dad! He was the one who had been in the emergency room that day, but my mom was the one who needed help! Gently asking questions and listening to their answers, the somewhat awkward conversation continued and Mom and Dad’s greatest desire emerged.
Dad looked at my mom and then at me. After a moment of silence he said,
“We just want to stay in our own home as long as possible. What has to happen so we can do that?”
Willing myself to speak I said, “I’m not sure, but I think we can figure it out.”
Armed with the tablet of notes I’d taken during our conversation, I prepared to leave. Glancing at my sister, I suggested that she might finally go pick up Dad’s medication. She grabbed the car keys, stuffed her arms into her sweater and muttered under her breath, “You think you know everything that’s going on around here. You know absolutely nothing because you’re never here!” And before I could respond, she walked out and shut the door behind her with just enough force to make sure that I understood her point.
After a moment I said, “Well, I’ll get to work on this list and figure things out, beginning on Monday. Dad, let’s see how your night goes and how you’re feeling tomorrow. Keep me posted.”
“Thank you so much for coming over. We love you,” said Dad. Mom, consumed by her own fears, nodded in agreement as tears teetered on the edge of her eyelids. After embracing each of my parents and assuring them that I would do everything possible to honor their wishes, I left.
As I drove home, a fog of fatigue settled around me as I thought about what steps had to be taken to keep my parents safe and comfortable at home. The seeds of anxiety began to sprout as I drove toward my house. I wondered how I would ever figure out what to do. I wondered why finding help was my job. I wondered what was in store for all of us. And most of all, I wondered what might happen if I weren't successful in my search.
My instincts accurately predicted that the shape of our lives had shifted. Joy began leaking from my soul as I faced the possibility that none of us might ever know normal again.
I have to remind myself to breathe— almost to remind my heart to beat.
− Emily Brontë
…
Reflection
Listen
Too many times we talk, rattling on with a personal agenda. Or we dither away trying to conjure up a solution for a real or imaginary problem. Seldom is the first choice to listen. We seem to think that beating a subject to death with words will somehow present a magic answer.
When talking proves fruitless, stop and listen.
Examine, just for a moment, who might be important to listen to. Do you need to listen to another person—perhaps a doctor, family member, pastor, or friend? Do you need to listen to that too often ignored inner voice? Do you need to listen to someone that you can’t see—someone who isn’t covered in skin?
If you find yourself caring for another person for a temporary or an extended period, one of your best assets is the ability to listen. Resources and answers abound if you close your mouth and open your ears. It’s absolutely amazing what you can learn when you stop talking!
Just listen.
…
Chapter 4
Beginning
The process of beginning to take control of someone’s life is not pleasant. Even though my parents admitted the need for assistance in order to stay in their own home, they were not anxious to have outsiders intrude in their lives. Especially my mother would have been quite happy to have me, and only me, fill her days. Instinctively I knew that I must explore options beyond myself.
Monday morning dawned, ushering in the search for help for my parents. If they were to stay at home, they would need help—lots of help, I thought. I began leafing through the phone book yellow pages. One phone call led to another. Referrals and multiple lists filled my notebook as I began exploring various possibilities. Time seemed to speed up as many options confused me.
Exhausted Teresa, after staying with Mom and Dad for a few more days, decided to go back to her own life leaving behind little doubt about her intention to avoid involvement in our parents’ lives, if possible. Always reminding anyone who would listen, she droned on and on about how difficult and tiring it was to be with our parents. Catching me alone, in spite of my efforts to dodge her, my sister grabbed the opportunity to complain, “I am completely worn out! I wish you had the ability to understand how tiring it is to be here, but I doubt that will ever happen. I’ve just got to get back home. On top of everything else, I have a drive to another state ahead of me and I’m so exhausted I don’t know if I can make it that far!” Even though I thought having her around somehow eased some of the growing responsibility in dealing with our parents, once my sister left, I realized that she added a significantly stressful component to the mix and I was glad she was gone. I convinced myself that dealing with Mom and Dad’s situation by myself was easier than answering to or trying to avoid my sisters.
Before departing, Exhausted Teresa put the finishing touches on a report she and Sanctimonious Shirley had written. Carefully placed on my parents’ kitchen table where I couldn’t miss it, the epistle was full of their enumerated observations and instructions; how to sabotage my father’s car so he could no longer drive, hiding his
