Being a Caretaker

This is today’s reality for those of a certain age: Whether because of old age, dementia, or Alzheimer’s, many of us will end up having to manage the physical and psychological health of loved ones…and of ourselves, too.

  For me, it’s taken seven years to come to terms with Richard’s crippling chronic arthritis and accept the limits that it has put on my life. I no longer take trips abroad, nor do I fly to visit friends in Dallas, Tampa, or LA. I don’t go anywhere from which I can’t get back home in two or three hours. I’ve had to decide when, where and how to draw the line. When to be there for Richard and when for myself; where he needs my help most, and where I can best get the relief I need from attending to him; and how to make all that happen in ways that are loving and caring. It’s a daunting task.

  I’ve had to learn to come to terms with my own needs. If I don’t have something useful to occupy my mind, I worry about getting older. If I don’t get out of the house every day, I feel trapped. If I can’t spend summertime in the country, I feel deprived. And, most of all, if I don’t get enough time to myself, I get cranky. Really cranky.

  It’s not that I don’t like people or don’t need their company; I do. But now, more than ever, as a caregiver, I need my own company, too—to keep in touch with who I am, how I’m feeling, and how to rejuvenate myself.

  I’ve always been way this way. When my kids were toddlers, I’d wake up before them and have breakfast on my own. Just a half hour by myself in the morning would get me through the day. When I worked full time, I’d disappear into the supply closet, close the door and close my eyes. Just 15 minutes would do. But there’s no standard amount of time that’s guaranteed to work. It depends. I have to deliberately check in with myself and track my moods. Am I feeling irritable? Stressed? Even after I’ve had a swim? Am I raising my voice unnecessarily? Yelling for no substantial reason? If I find myself wanting to close the door, turn off the phone, and put my head on my pillow, I need a few hours or perhaps a full day to regenerate.

  It's important for Richard to know that this not about him. “It’s about me,” I tell him, “not you; if I take more time to myself, I’ll be able to give more time to you.” Fortunately, he understands. “Sure, go ahead,” he urges. “I can take care of myself.” Often, after I close my door, he closes his door, puts on his earphones, turns up the volume, and listens to Mozart or Bach. Turns out he enjoys some solitude, too.

  But we don’t want one another to feel that we’re excluding one another.  We may not need to leave civilization to have time to ourselves, but we do have to let one another know why and when we need it. If not, we’re left wondering if we’ve done anything wrong? One thing is for sure: Life has gotten too short for either of us to be worrying about or doubting—unnecessarily—what we might have done.

  We simply need time apart to salvage ourselves from the daily functions of getting older. It’s for a good cause: our remaining years together. Whether it’s two, five or ten, this is the home stretch.