AS MANY OF you know, I write about mom a lot.
I do that because it’s often “mom” we’re talking about. She’s the caregiver or she’s the widow or she’s the survivor.
It has to do, of course, with life expectancies and (in my opinion) about a dozen other reasons that don’t really matter today.
But lately I’ve been hearing more and more from (or about) dad — let’s call him Mr. — and it’s Mr. who is the caregiver, and the scenario is familiar to a lot of us:
A longtime couple that’s been together since dirt. They’re not perfect people, but none of us are. Mostly (and, often, privately) it’s a long love story about loyalty, commitment, friendship and love — in their own way.
And mom has started down the Alzheimer’s road (or something that looks a lot like it), and that road is getting longer by the moment. Somehow though they’re getting by.
The truth is that they’re getting by because Mr. has declared himself the full-time caregiver for his wife, his love and his friend.
True, the cleaning might not be perfect and the cooking is basic. And maybe the personal care lacks flair if not talent, but they are by-God getting by. She’s loved, she’s warm, she’s fed, she’s safe and she’s cared for — because that’s Mr.’s job.
It’s his duty, his commitment and his role to play — his job — and he wouldn’t (and won’t) have it any other way.
This is about love and loyalty, and nobody can take care of her as well as he can. And nobody will.
This is about who he is.
It’s getting harder and harder and dicier and dicier, but this is his wife and he will by-God take care of her.
Then, something happens, like a broken hip.
Now, it’s about hospitals, doctors, nurses and discharge planners.
Then, it’s about rehab facilities, nurses and aides.
Family is saying this, friends are saying that and suddenly Mr. is in a world of alien words, acronyms, insurance and diagnoses. And advice.
And here’s what Mr. clearly sees: No one is taking care of Mom the way she ought to be taken care of, so there’s only one thing to do: Take her back home, where he can take care of her.
Here’s what others see: He was barely making it before. He has his own health issues and, now, she’s even farther down the dementia road than she was before the fall. There’s no way he can do this.
Can’t he see that?
No, he can’t.
For 40, 50, 60+ years, Mr. has been the provider, the protector, the partner and the friend. He’s been the fixer. He fixed things.
It was his job to fix things. So, now, do we suddenly imagine that he will “see the light” and accept the inevitable fact that he can’t do it alone?
At this point, the story can go in any of a number of different ways, but my goal today is not to tell a story.
My goal today is speak to Mr., and here’s what I want to say: I get it.
I understand what you’re doing, I understand why and I admire you, Sir, for doing it.
And I agree: the world would be a better place if there were more guys like you in it.
I see devotion, I see courage and I see love. I see an honest man doing his job, which he accepts without whining, and not looking for (or expecting) sympathy.
I’m proud to know you.
I mean that.
Regardless of how the story goes, here’s where it often ends: Mr. realizes that he just can’t do it anymore.
He just can’t. He would if he could, but he … can’t.
So, things happen and things get done and life changes, forever.
And often home alone, he looks in the mirror and wonders who-the-Hell he’s looking at. Because it’s nobody he knows.
He failed. He let her down; after all these years, he let her down.
Sometimes, many of us can help him understand that he didn’t. Maybe, even, that he should have “done it” sooner.
And maybe we can help him to understand how he can continue to do his job — to be the man and the mate he wants to be — in different ways. Because love doesn’t end.
But sometimes we can’t. And we can become very frustrated and even resentful: Can’t he see that?
No, sometimes, he can’t.
Maybe we’re the ones who need to “see” — to understand — that this is about who he is.
When those times happen, all I know to do is tell the truth:
I’m proud to know you.
________
Mark Harvey is director of Clallam/Jefferson Senior Information & Assistance, which operates through the Olympic Area Agency on Aging. He is also a member of the Community Advocates for Rural Elders partnership. He can be reached at 360-452-3221 (Port Angeles-Sequim), 360-385-2552 (Jefferson County) or 360-374-9496 (West End), or by emailing harvemb@dshs.wa.gov.
