The Group

Los Angeles, California


Over a month has passed since my last post. With so much going on in my life, it is perhaps time to confide that in the midst of all this fun and frivolity: Carmel and Billy; girlfriends, cake and chocolate; I must share that I also meet a daily challenge. I am my mother's caregiver. My mother is ninety years old. Now, before the calculators get pulled out and the eyebrows get raised, I must state unequivocally that my mother was into her thirties when I was born, and my father was close to forty. Growing up in those days with parents who were much older than the parents of all my friends, was a challenge on its own. But it was nothing compared to what faces me now. My mom is afflicted with both diagnosed dementia and age-related memory loss. For the most part she is doing great -- especially for her age. Her doctor says that there is no clinical reason that she shouldn't live another ten years, which in most ways is very good news. She is strong and healthy. But, unfortunately, she is also angry. And as often happens with dementia victims, she is angry at her only caregiver. And that person is me.

This was a particularly rough week. I took her for an appointment with her primary care physician, who has been a rock through this process. Mom spent much of the appointment sniping at me and complaining about me to the doctor. This was not lost on him. "Wow," he said to her. "You're really beating her up." But that didn't stop her. When she finally said to the doctor "No one wants to be 'mothered' by someone who didn't have children," he looked at me and shook his head. "Welcome to my mundo," I said quietly. Mom is also profoundly hard of hearing.

I can't change my mom's situation. But maybe I can change how I experience these episodes. Maybe I can even learn to accept my grief and anxiety which I fear will intensify over the course of her decline. But I can't do it on my own. I need help. So last night, I attended my first support group for caregivers. It was offered by a non-profit organization established to help families who are dealing with memory impairment in a family member.

I've never attended any kind of a support group, so I was nervous about it. I briefly explained why I was there. My voice trembled. Then later, when the person seated next to me told a particularly sad and poignant story about an experience with a parent, I lost it. What was said (without revealing so much as genders here) was the expression of a fear that this is what will be remembered about this parent, after they are gone. As if my thoughts were read and spoken aloud. But then I realized that we all think this way. We all feel fear, and, at times, anger, frustration and a potent dose of railing-at-the-Gods. Why us?

The obvious answer is that we all have to deal with something in our lives. But my mother was lucky. My grandparents and father (her parents and husband) lived to ripe old ages and died swiftly and quietly. Ditto her two brothers. There was little care giving involved. As her children, we didn't abuse drugs nor get pregnant out of wedlock (a big taboo for her generation). We graduated from college, stayed married, never needed financial assistance, and heeded her admonition that we live close to her. She and my dad were healthy throughout their lives, and had a wonderful retirement. They traveled far and wide before retirement. After they retired, Billy and I always said that they traveled like the police were after them. Her life was good. Very good. Always. And now, she has the financial resources to live in a retirement community that operates like a luxury cruise ship -- with elegant ambiance, good food, amenities, and activities both in-house and beyond.

But she's angry. I feel her anger acutely, and when she lashes out at me, I am profoundly hurt. So I took this hurt with me to the meeting last night. And, of course what I discovered is that there are not only people in the same boat as me, but that all of those people were in such worse situations, that I later felt sheepish and embarrassed for weeping. On the other hand, I am also cognizant that, while things are not that bad yet, what lies ahead is not known.

Over the last eighteen months, I have watched so many of my friends cope with the loss of a parent. In most cases it was the last surviving parent. But, in my friend Lisa's case, it was both parents within the same calendar year. My heart has gone out to my friends in their bereavement. But now, in a terrible way, I envy them. Not for the loss of their beloved parents, but rather for their release from the unknown -- the how will this play out? They know the worst and it's behind them. Not so for me and the other members of the group who sat in the circle last night. For us, every day starts it all over again. And none of us know what is ahead of us now that the role we play with our parents has finally reversed.

And now, if you're still reading (hanging on by your fingernails), I want to apologize for being so morose. I promise that the next post will have a recipe and maybe even a joke. Autumn is on its way -- my favorite season. I see pumpkins in all our futures. And I guess it's a lesson to all of us to look forward to what we can count on in the days before us. Even while we anticipate the unaccountable that also surely lies ahead. Thanks for reading my blog (I'm so sorry!).