It was the early 1980’s, and I had just started dating the man who became my husband. My grandmother had recently moved in with my family, and we were learning how to take care of her. My parents went somewhere one night, so my grandma and younger sisters were keeping an eye on each other, but I was assigned to be home in time to “put Grandma to bed.” I was having a good time at a party with my new boyfriend, so I called my sister to see if she thought she could do what needed to be done. The conversation went something like this. Me: Do you think you can get Grandma ready for bed? Sister: Well, what would I have to do? Me: The first thing is to put medicine up her nose. That is when the conversation stalled, and I told her I would leave the party. I should disclose that my grandmother did not really have a nose at that point. Most of it had to be removed because of skin cancer. I can see how putting medicine up what was left of her nose would gross out an eleven-year-old.
Two years later, caring for my grandmother had become routine for all of us, but it also became more difficult. She was not a pleasant person to be around. She complained, and nothing we did seemed to be good enough. As her needs increased, my mother became more and more burnt out. My sisters were hitting their pre-teen years, and I was engaged to be married. At one point, my mom grabbed me by the shirt and growled, “Put me in a home. Do not do this to yourself!” We were all exhausted and frustrated when my brother came home on leave. I vented to him about how hard it all was, and his response was, “Yes, but there is so much love in this house.” It didn’t make it any easier, but his words have stayed with me.
Finally, one winter afternoon my grandmother fell, and we could not get her up. We called paramedics who took her to a hospital where the emergency room doctor looked at my mother and said, “My dear, how have you been taking care of her? She is beyond what you can do at home.” We had to put her in a nursing home. Even though we were at our physical and mental limits, we felt bad. It was one of the hardest decisions our family had ever made, and we weren’t even the ones deciding—it was the doctor.
Decades later, my mother, the caregiver, is the one in need of care. The sister, who as a child, quickly took courage and learned to do whatever our grandmother needed, now cares for our mother. She is the middle of what is often referred to as “the sandwich generation,” and the struggle is real, but she has the biggest heart I know.
Being a caregiver to an elderly relative is a contradictory experience. It is an honor and a privilege to serve those who have served us, but that does not make it easy. Caregivers must develop an enormous amount of patience. They have to have a willingness to give up parts of their own lives to make the life of someone else better. Jesus said, “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends (Jn 15:13).” I always associated this with literally giving one’s life to save another’s, such as what soldiers and first responders do. After watching my sister and remembering what my mother went through, I have an additional definition. It takes great love to be a caregiver. It really is laying down at least a part of your own life for that of someone else. There may come a time when my sister’s family will have to make the same decision that was made about our grandmother, but my brother was right. There is a lot of love in their house.