Too Much to Ask?

No one is useless in this world… who lightens the burden of it for any one else. ~Charles Dickens, English writer and social critic, in Our Mutual Friend, 1865

I just want to be a daughter. Is that too much to ask?

For nearly two decades now, I’ve taken care of my mom.

At first, it was fairly easy: transport her to doctor and hair appointments (she doesn’t drive), cook a few meals when she didn’t want to, iron (she’s always hated to), and so on.

But as time went by and Mom got older and feebler, I found myself doing much more: all the grocery shopping, much of the cooking and cleaning, dealing with handymen and contract workers (electricians, plumbers, yardmen, and more). I had very little time for me, and a lot suffered, including my writing, my web design business, my inner calm.

Still, I carved out a niche for the things I refused to give up — daily exercise, eating healthy meals, sleeping sufficient hours, music (Band and practice), blogging, Church, and playing with Monkey.

Recently, Mom had to go to the hospital and upon her release, she was transferred to a local rehab facility. The idea was for her to get stronger and return home.

Insurance (Medicare) is the determiner of when a person’s rehab stay is up, and she was sent home last week.

Still needing care.

Personal care (bathing, ambulation, toileting) as well as help with laundry, meal preparation, light housekeeping, appointments.

But try to find care in a small rural community! We have a steady parade of home nurses and physical therapists, but eventually their time will run out, leaving the burden on me once again.

And Heaven forgive my “selfishness,” but I don’t want to do it anymore.

Is it asking too much for me just to be her daughter? And let a paid helper do the rest?

One of these days, Mom won’t be here, and we’re wasting valuable time in the day-to-day minutiae of living.

I want to sit beside her and hear the old stories again. To write down the special recipes she carries in her head. To talk about her memories. To do the things others have told me they miss, now that their moms are gone.

Caregiving eats up all the time I have, and I find myself resenting it.

Before my dad passed, I didn’t have a chance to just be a daughter either. Oh, sure, I was there for him and regularly sought his advice in matters of business or another area of his expertise. But I didn’t ask him the hard questions, like if he was afraid or worried or sad to see the end of life drawing near.

Not that he’d have answered. He was a very private person and didn’t go in much for reflection.

But I feel remorse over it, and I don’t want it to happen that way with Mom. And she’s not keen on going to a facility (if a nice one even could be found without forcing her to relocate out of town).

It’s a dilemma for sure.

Lightening the burdens of another is a high calling, one that demands great personal sacrifice. And finding just the right caregiver is a Godsend, freeing up a family’s time to say proper good-byes while the necessary work is getting done.

Medical science has made it possible for us to live longer than ever before. Sadly, no one seems to have figured out just what that’s supposed to look like.