The Gift of Receiving
By Joy Sinnott
I love taking little gifts to my parents. When I could, I take a can of nuts, a few placemats to replace theirs, pick up a pastry or a chocolate bar. Replace something that is broken. Sometimes it’s pulling their weeds or other little things that need to be done. They always seem a bit embarrassed to receive, as they have always been the givers. Givers of their time, their generosity in the little things they can afford. They are very independent, frugal and never in need for more than they have. Their age being 95, I’m spending more time caring for them. When cleaning I am told that they “just did that the other day”. And when I take meals, I hear “ We have plenty, you’ll make us fat”, and “your Mother is a very good cook so you don’t need to bring all this”. I began noticing that Mom would forget when it was mealtime and hastily put together what I would consider a snack. They would not accept services from Verde Care Givers or Meals on Wheels as they felt others needed them more. More burned pots and pans were put outside to cool.
For the last several months, I’ve spent the majority of my time transporting and being an advocate for my parents. Any exercise, meal planning for my husband and myself, and most of my social life has been replaced with Dr. visits, hospital visits, transporting and arranging care for my parents. Often I had to ask for relief at work. Always I felt it an honor to serve my parents and everyday was a blessing to have them in my life. But it was taking a toll on me. There were times I forgot what day it was and had to write out the next day’s list of details to take care of. I wasn’t sleeping, I found myself more and more obsessed with their health and welfare, and with this worry came more and more sleepless nights wondering if they would call me if there was a problem. It recently did come to a head with a change in my mothers’ health, and finally, just after my Mom and Dad agreed to let me move them to an Independent/Assisted living my Mothers health took even a bigger decline, and for the first time in 71 years of marriage, they spent 28 days apart while Mom was in the hospital and rehab. During this time, I moved Dad and eventfully my Mom was able to join him.
Did I mention it took a toll on my personal and social life? . Always having been the strong one, I realized how it was affecting me and the only word I could come up with to describe myself was: Fragile. I could cry at the drop of a hat, a look, or a plan that took a different course than was scheduled. My own house became more unkempt, and meals for my husband was often more than not eating fast food or dining out. There was no time to take care of my own needs, an oil change for the car, a mammogram, eye appointments, visiting my grandchildren, all had to be put on the back burner. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this pace going and every day I became more forgetful and life seemed very abstract. Through an email, I finally told a small group of friends that I had to step away from plans we had made, and explained how fragile I had become. I would have a hard time discussing it without loosing it.
As I have often done with others who are experiencing difficult times in their lives, my friends reached out to me offering house cleaning and meals and anything they could do. I felt over whelmed with their offers and my first instinct was like my parents…a bit embarrassed to receive, as I had always been able to take care of my own and still reach out to help others. This is exactly how my parents raised me, to give of myself. I sat and thought about the times I’ve offered to help others and how great it made me feel to be able to help in some small way. It took only a little bit more in my day to do, but the feeling I got from it made my day even better.
And so, I allowed myself to become the receiver, which was much harder than giving. It was really tough to say ‘yes please’ to those offering to bring me meals and nearly turned everyone down. The end result was that my husband and I ate so well, and had more food than we could eat. It sustained us and gave us the energy we needed to push through, and catch our breaths again. It took away the worry of figuring out when and what to shop for, how to fit in prepping and cooking. My friends let me know they were thinking of me with cards, and emails and I felt surrounded by them through the kindness they showed me, and the patience they had when I could actually verbalize what was going on in my life. And they let me babble on and on sometimes, and yes it did help to vent and cry and get it out.
At the time of writing this, my parents are together again, and doing relatively well. They just celebrated their 72nd anniversary telling me how they met, courted and married. Their eyes sparkled, and mine did too.
I still spend a great deal of time taking care of their needs, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but now the load is lighter due to the love and Kindness of others.
For the last several months, I’ve spent the majority of my time transporting and being an advocate for my parents. Any exercise, meal planning for my husband and myself, and most of my social life has been replaced with Dr. visits, hospital visits, transporting and arranging care for my parents. Often I had to ask for relief at work. Always I felt it an honor to serve my parents and everyday was a blessing to have them in my life. But it was taking a toll on me. There were times I forgot what day it was and had to write out the next day’s list of details to take care of. I wasn’t sleeping, I found myself more and more obsessed with their health and welfare, and with this worry came more and more sleepless nights wondering if they would call me if there was a problem. It recently did come to a head with a change in my mothers’ health, and finally, just after my Mom and Dad agreed to let me move them to an Independent/Assisted living my Mothers health took even a bigger decline, and for the first time in 71 years of marriage, they spent 28 days apart while Mom was in the hospital and rehab. During this time, I moved Dad and eventfully my Mom was able to join him.
Did I mention it took a toll on my personal and social life? . Always having been the strong one, I realized how it was affecting me and the only word I could come up with to describe myself was: Fragile. I could cry at the drop of a hat, a look, or a plan that took a different course than was scheduled. My own house became more unkempt, and meals for my husband was often more than not eating fast food or dining out. There was no time to take care of my own needs, an oil change for the car, a mammogram, eye appointments, visiting my grandchildren, all had to be put on the back burner. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this pace going and every day I became more forgetful and life seemed very abstract. Through an email, I finally told a small group of friends that I had to step away from plans we had made, and explained how fragile I had become. I would have a hard time discussing it without loosing it.
As I have often done with others who are experiencing difficult times in their lives, my friends reached out to me offering house cleaning and meals and anything they could do. I felt over whelmed with their offers and my first instinct was like my parents…a bit embarrassed to receive, as I had always been able to take care of my own and still reach out to help others. This is exactly how my parents raised me, to give of myself. I sat and thought about the times I’ve offered to help others and how great it made me feel to be able to help in some small way. It took only a little bit more in my day to do, but the feeling I got from it made my day even better.
And so, I allowed myself to become the receiver, which was much harder than giving. It was really tough to say ‘yes please’ to those offering to bring me meals and nearly turned everyone down. The end result was that my husband and I ate so well, and had more food than we could eat. It sustained us and gave us the energy we needed to push through, and catch our breaths again. It took away the worry of figuring out when and what to shop for, how to fit in prepping and cooking. My friends let me know they were thinking of me with cards, and emails and I felt surrounded by them through the kindness they showed me, and the patience they had when I could actually verbalize what was going on in my life. And they let me babble on and on sometimes, and yes it did help to vent and cry and get it out.
At the time of writing this, my parents are together again, and doing relatively well. They just celebrated their 72nd anniversary telling me how they met, courted and married. Their eyes sparkled, and mine did too.
I still spend a great deal of time taking care of their needs, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but now the load is lighter due to the love and Kindness of others.