All posts tagged: caregiving

What Do You Call the Care that Comes Before Full-Blown Caregiving?

“Hill? Would you mind stopping by and folding my king-size fitted sheet?” asks my 83-year-old mom over the phone, frustration clear in her voice. “It’s just too difficult for me.” Saying yes to the request is easy, because I live nearby; I even find myself glowing when she raves about how efficient I am, having tamed the sheet into an (imperfect) rectangle in seconds. What I don’t focus on, initially, is my concern that she finds the task difficult in the first place. That comes later, sneaking up on me like a whisper in my ear, as other “difficulties” start coming at me: managing Amazon returns, scheduling doctor appointments, syncing her iPhone. Although my vibrant, Ph.D. mom lives a richly independent life – albeit alone, since my father died seven years ago – I’ve been her emotional support for some time. But caretaking? That’s not something I thought would start so soon. Especially when, right now, I’m 57 and newly divorced, and am putting my own life back together. It’s hard to pinpoint the average …

The Real Cost of Caregiving

By Courtney Colwell

When I was recently in Pittsburgh, giving my sister a much-needed break from taking care of our mother, I heard a sharp cracking sound, followed by something hitting the floor. I was sitting in the kitchen at the time and raced down the stairs to find my mother on the floor, beside the desk, in the den. The keyboard shelf was lying next to her, with the keyboard dangling slightly above, still attached to the computer by a cord. “Are you okay?” I asked, helping her up and into the chair. She didn’t seem to be injured. “I’m okay,” she said. “What happened?” “I fell,” she said. “What happened to the desk?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. She must have used the keyboard shelf to help herself up from the desk chair, and it couldn’t support her weight. “I don’t know,” she said, with a sense of surprise. “Really?” “How’d that happen?” she asked. “Did Ollie do that?” I asked, referring to my 14-pound Westie, who had spent the morning downstairs with …

Grandma’s: A House Manual in the Age of COVID

By Margaret Crandall

Welcome to Grandma’s house. We understand this was not your first choice for a week away from the toxic San Francisco air, especially when the air down here in Central California is even worse. We are aware that this week-long vacation puts both you and Grandma at risk, COVID-wise. We appreciate your business. Because this is not a standard vacation rental, we hope you will spend some time reading these warnings and suggestions so that your stay will be comfortable, or at least tolerable. Volume and noises Grandma is deaf as hell and refuses to get a hearing aid. When you enter the house, make sure to slam the door hard enough to make the whole house rattle. Shout her name as loud as you possibly can. Several times. You will get no response, and you will dread what you will find in the TV room where she spends most of her time. The TV, of course, will be at maximum volume, and you will see her sitting upright, eyes closed, motionless. You will wonder …

Come Sleep with Me: Caretaking Mom

By Desiree Cooper

When I turned 50, I rediscovered the splendid stretch of my own bed. Marriage-free after 25 years, children grown and gone, no pets with their whiny demands, I could haunt the night without fear of rousing man, child, or beast. There are those who long for the late-night solace of someone else’s arms. But solitude cracked the night open for me, and my bed became my sanctuary, my spa, my office, my library, my snack bar. On my nightstand, Alexa played Esperanza Spalding when I was writing, or read me Octavia Butler’s Wild Seed as a bedtime story. Next to Alexa was a lavender-scented candle, and usually a glass of red wine or a cup of strong, black coffee. The marriage bed, the birthing bed, the family bed, was finally the ark of my own joy. Then in the summer of 2016, I abandoned my Detroit home of thirty years, put my belongings in storage and moved to coastal Virginia to live with my parents. They were in their 80s, their minds fading much faster …