The Facts of Life-A Different Perspective

Dad & Gee

Most kids learn the facts of life from their more well-informed friends or from some vague reference in personal hygiene class. I got my first lesson from a banned British novel.

In my childhood home, shelves groaned under the weight of books celebrating great opera, classic literature, and fine art, while stacks of Scientific American, Mother Jones, and National Geographic vied for space next to heirloom Sabbath candlesticks.

A voracious reader, everything intrigued me, including the backs of cereal boxes, toothpaste tubes, and warnings on household cleaning supplies. My parents used to pay me a penny for every billboard I didn’t read aloud on the family’s four-hour road trips from Orlando to Fort Lauderdale during summer vacations.

One Saturday, having turned boredom into an art form as only a thirteen-year-old can do, I went in search of something new to read while my parents were out buying a new washing machine. Nancy Drew and her penchant for making a mystery out of a molehill had grown stale and all my beloved horse books had been read and reread a dozen times. Exploring the bookcase in my parents’ bedroom, I noticed a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence. While I didn’t know that “first edition” stamped inside its cover gave this book far more value than most, no one had to tell me what the word  “lover” meant. It could only be one thing... sex. And so I sat on the floor of my parents’ room and discovered for myself why Lawrence’s book had maintained its “banned” status for so many years.

Knowing my parents would soon be back, I got busy dog-earring the juiciest pages for a secret return engagement and never heard my father’s footsteps across the terrazzo floor until his wing-tips appeared in the doorway. It took just a few seconds for him to assess the scenethe hole on the shelf where the book should have been and me hunched over speed-reading and pushing horn-rimmed glasses back onto my nose while nervously twirling strands of brown hair between my fingers.

Looking up and seeing my father’s pained expression, I braced myself for a lecture on reading a book that was obviously meant for adults only.

“Judy, it appears your mother and I cannot trust you to be alone in the house without supervision. I am extremely disappointed. How can I make myself clear? NEVER, EVER treat a book in this fashion. Only lazy people with no respect for property consider it acceptable to dog-ear pages. Until I say so, this will go back on the shelf and remain there.”

My father eventually got over the fact that his now sullied copy of Lady Chatterley would no longer be funding his retirement, and I took what occurred as his permission to push the boundaries even further by exploring a collection of writing well beyond my years. Beginning with the bookcases that lined our dining and living room walls, I read works by Herman Wouk, Leon Uris, and Nevil Shute, which taught me about harsh realities, impossible to put aside.

Yet,  some of the most profound lessons have come, not from books, but from being there for people in ways I’ve never imagined; accepting what is, including my imperfections and limitations; offering comfort even when I cannot find it for myself; and realizing that loving invites loss, regardless of how hard we try to hold it at bay. This is a truer definition of the facts of life, and the very stuff of caregiving.

She Let Go

red balloon paul klee

A poem attributed to both Ernest Holmes and Rev. Safire Rose

She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a book on how to let go… She didn’t search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go. She didn’t journal about it. She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go. She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn’t call the prayer line. She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go. There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.

(painting by Paul Klee, “Red Balloon”)

Are you the bug, or the windshield, today?

worn old truck gratis

As the Mary Chapin-Carpenter song goes, “Sometimes you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug.” While there’s simply no way to steer clear of the many challenges this caregiving journey brings, we can learn so much from them. Here are just a few things I discovered along the way.

In addition to constantly multi-tasking, you’re also dealing with a multitude of conflicting emotions. Caregiving is damn hard work, and if you don’t explode once in awhile, someone needs to take your pulse. Give yourself permission to feel what you feel, without judgement. Sit down with a cup of hot tea or a glass of wine, grab a journal, and write it out.  Venting on paper offers an opportunity to safely process all that we’re going through, and the realizations that are often unearthed can be very powerful.

When the planets align and things go according to plan, that’s usually due to one person who’s willing to go the extra mile (in addition to you, of course). Maybe it’s the doctor’s receptionist who slides your dad in for an appointment on a day you can be there; or the nurse’s aide at your mom’s rehab facility who always treats her with such respect. To acknowledge such kindness, I maintain a stash of thank you cards and inexpensive gifts like pretty notepads, hand-made soaps from a local artisan, $5 gift cards from Starbucks. Small gestures like this can can have a big impact, because they’re so unexpected. The caveat is that you have to do it for yourself, as well. For me, a small reward was heading to a favorite thrift store for a $3 treasure, or 15 minutes of quiet with a good cup of coffee from my favorite cafe.

Reach out to a support group, either close to home or online. You may think you don’t need this, but the reality is that caregiving takes a village. Isolation is a very real concern that can affect your mental and physical health. These communities are a way to make friends, receive support and encouragement, and gather helpful strategies from people who are living the tough stuff every day. Many focus on special needs like caring for a loved one with dementia (check out Brenda Avadian’s site, The Caregiver’s Voice), or working daughters caring for aging parents (Liz O’Donnell of WorkingDaughter.com has a site that offers great advice and support, and a FaceBook group that offers the same.)

Accept help early on, while people are most likely to offer, even if you think everything’s under control. The reality is that the longer you go on doing it all yourself, the less people tend to believe you need assistance. Be specific. Maybe it’s asking someone to bring a meal; or having a friend sit with the family member you’re caring for, so you can take a break for a few hours. Make a list that includes daily, weekly or monthly chores that others can perform, and when someone says, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do” be ready with, “Well, actually there is. How about……” Believe me, this points out who you can count on pretty quick.

Maintaining a sense of humor while caregiving isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity. Laughter, even the dark kind, allows your body to relax during stressful times. But, did you know it can also keep you from being crushed by emotion? It saved me countless times, especially the last day I spent with my father at the hospital, simply holding his hand. When the nurse asked if I wanted someone from the clergy to visit, I asked for a rabbi. As he entered the room, I couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t look like a member of my tribe. Reading my mind, this lovely man said, with an apologetic smile, “I’m not Jewish, but will an Episcopalian do?” In that instant, I laughed. Not a nervous titter, but a loud, life-affirming sound that provided me with what I needed most – release and relief.

I once read that, “If only” is the saddest phrase in the English language. Don’t become a prisoner of regret after a parent is gone. Be generous now with some simple, yet powerful phrases. “I love you.” Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.” You would be amazed at their ability to bring about positive change in a relationship. A great book on this subject is Ira Byock’s, The Four Things That Matter Most.”

What I continue to realize is that we are all in this together, and sharing our experiences is how we begin to change things for the better. Why not take a minute and offer up some of your own hard-earned wisdom?