"Five
hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you
measure the life of a woman or a man?"
Seasons of Love
from Rent
It seems
unfathomable that it's been a year. So much has happened since that chilly
April day in 2012 when I drove my parents to Wisconsin. They had lived their
entire lives in Illinois – in Chicago and the northern suburbs. Rather
suddenly, my siblings and I uprooted them and brought them to live with us, for
a few months, and now in assisted living.
If you’re of “my
generation,” i.e. a Baby Boomer, you may be part of the “Sandwich Generation.”
We suddenly find ourselves with responsibility to our children and our parents
at the same time. For many, it can be daunting. For me, it’s been eye-opening.
I had never spent much time with older people. Truth be
told, I felt uncomfortable around them. I couldn’t relate, couldn’t communicate
well. They looked funny and they smelled funny. What if something icky happened
while I was around them? (No, I am not proud of these feelings. I’m just being
honest. I was a wuss.)
I’m of the opinion that God knows your deep, dark unspoken secrets
and finds ways to help you face them. Or, as a small plaque in my kitchen
reads: “The Lord is the source of my needs and blessings.”
Because of health and safety, my parents’ move had to be
quick and decisive. In retrospect, this was also a good thing for me. I had
little to no time to process how my life was about to change. Although, I do vividly
remember bursting into tears the night before the move and then having a
personal cheerleading session where I told myself to “suck it up, Buttercup.” I
was pretty comfortable in my “empty nest life.” I had no need or desire to
shake that up. Oh, silly me.
My parents lived with us for three months. I wish I could
say that I was a perfect daughter/hostess/roommate. I was not. I whined…a lot.
Sometimes, it was frustrating. Pretty sure I lost my temper. I tried really
hard, and failed often.
And while I was frustrated, I’m sure that my parents weren’t
completely enamored of their “new life” and being semi-permanent houseguests.
If there’s one thing I know about my parents, they HATED imposing on ANYONE.
Take my feelings and multiply them ten-fold. That is, I’m sure, how my parents
were feeling. And yet, they were far more graceful about it all than I was. They
NEVER complained. Not once. Thinking back, I’m humbled.
Eventually, we found a nice assisted living apartment for my
parents. All of us were cautiously optimist. My parents would be living in a
new place, with new people, for the first time in many, many years. Remember
starting high school or middle school? Remember cliques and lunch tables and
schedules and all of the stress associated with that? Well, imagine doing that
when you’re 80 years old. Daunting, right? All of it was a learning
experience…for them AND for us.
That’s the thing about this past year: I’ve learned so much
– about my parents, about myself, and about life. This is the “blessing” part
of this journey. I’m honest enough to say that never in a million years would I
have chosen this path. And yet, here I am on it.
When I talk to friends about their aging parents, I have to
bite my tongue to not give unsolicited advice. Over a year ago, a friend of
mine, who is a nurse, suggested that I consider going to medical appointments
with my parents because it would be so helpful to them and me. It seemed
ludicrous at the time, but stuck in my head. I started to do a little of it
then and now I do a lot. I’m so grateful to that friend for planting that seed
of wisdom. I want to pay it forward and share everything that I’ve learned with
everyone. But I realize that not everyone has any interest. They’ll have their
own journeys.
One of the many blessings along this journey are the small
conversations that I have with my parents. The other day, I was driving home
with my mom from one of her doctor appointments. I complimented her on how she
is so gracious and accepting of her health limitations, especially, but not
limited to, macular degeneration that leaves her with virtually no vision. She
said: “Oh I don’t know. I guess you just have to accept where you are and learn
to live with it.” For somebody who has been transplanted and moved around like
a virtual gypsy for the past year, that seemed rather amazing.
And so the journey continues. New challenges crop up all the
time. I’ve become my parents’ chauffeur, medical advocate, personal shopper and
often their confidante. I am, literally, all up “in their business.” I know
they wish it wasn’t that way, but I’m discovering that we all end up in
situations in which we wish we weren’t. Grace is what helps us cope.
There is a quote at the end of the movie Life of Pi: “I suppose in the end, the whole of life
becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a
moment to say goodbye.” I couldn’t help but think these were wise words
to guide me on the rest of this journey.
