Dear Gente,
This posting is
for all the caregivers out there, past and present. You have or are presently accompanying a
family member or friend as they transition.
This journey may be swift, or it may take weeks, months, years. But you were there, or you are there
now. And it’s the holidays. TV commercials, store music, radio channels
are all blasting jovial lyrics about “sleigh rides,” “jingle bells,” and
informing you that “from now on our troubles will be miles away.” You want to stop this music, postpone the
holidays just this once, because it’s another burden, another reminder that
your world is not at all looking a lot like Christmas, or Hanukkah, or any
other festivity taking place around you.
You feel alone.
My mother tells
me the story of our familia en Mexico -- how parents, aunts, cousins, comadres,
compadres, all living in close quarters would help each other through elder transitioning. There were no “assisted living” housing
arrangements, no social workers or nurses coming to the house. It was simply “the family” who became the
network. It makes me think about the
Mayan communities who have settled here in Nebraska, some of whom I’ve
met. They’ve taught me how their community
handles births, deaths, illness. Because
many are undocumented, they don’t go to the doctor or hospital. They take care of their own. Some of the immigrants have come already with
medical knowledge: either degrees from
medical schools in their home country, or they are curanderas and/or
doulas. They have created a strong
support system. This is not to say it’s
easy for them. It’s just a reminder that
in this country, there are various support structures. Many cannot afford “assisted living” (or choose that option because they fear their loved one will be abused), or there are challenges with receiving outside assistance in the home, which then demands much from the one or two people
helping.
With each
generation, close familial networks become fragmented and disappear. And so I think of you, dear one, who is without
a large, supportive network, who is overwhelmed with the work of taking care of
your father, mother, or other family members or friends. I think of you who may have forgotten how
tired you are, but your body reminds you:
the ache in your back, your feet, your arms, the headache you get in the
afternoons or late evenings.
I am
thinking of you who cannot sleep well, always on the alert in case the family
member with “sundowners” tries to walk out the door at 2a.m. I am thinking of you who works hard to keep
the dignity intact for the loved one whose mind is shutting down (because
that’s what happens first when the rest of the body is dying). I am thinking of you whose father, mother, or
other loved one can no longer recognize who you are. I am thinking of you whose loved one, after
many years of illness, has transitioned, and another kind of grieving
begins.
A few days ago,
I wrote to close friends, telling them how much I cherish their friendship, and
wishing them much love. They wrote back
and said: “It is a pleasure to see you, hear
you, and share ideas, joy, laughter, and some pain to make it real.” That’s it in a nutshell, I thought. It is so important to share our lives, and
that includes “some pain to make it real.”
It’s not a friendship/relationship without what is “real.” There is much sadness, anger, fury,
frustration, laughter, joy (a kind of bittersweet joy), respect, and exhaustion,
in accompanying a loved one toward final transition with dignity. I’m keeping it “real” for you, dear one, who
finds these words familiar. I’m keeping
it real and thinking of you, sending you strong energies of calm, comfort, deep
breaths, many moments of humor, and the knowledge that you are not alone. You are not alone, dear one. I am thinking of you and others are too. You, dear one, are a member of this larger
familia of caregivers. Con paz y fortaleza.
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