Balls in the Air

When we are born they take care of us. They feed us and change us and see to our constant needs. They keep us safe and teach us right from wrong. They hold us when we are frightened and comfort us when we are hurt. They don’t ask for anything in return, they do it all because they love us.

Being a family caregiver to someone with any form of Dementia is the most difficult job you will ever have. You have to step into the role of parenting a parent or grandparent. We do for them, as they did for us, because we love them.
Like a baby, they often cannot express themselves well enough to tell where it hurts or why they are frightened. They rely on us to make it better. They are no longer capable of knowing right from wrong so we must gently guide them in the right direction. They have no concept of what is safe and what is not so we must do all in our power to keep them from injury. It can drain every bit of energy from you, leaving you exhausted almost constantly, in a much more wearing kind of way than being a new parent.

There are always times when you will be exasperated. For example, when Dad brings me a handful of light bulbs (removed from every lamp in his bedroom) and says he doesn’t understand why they all burn out at the same time. A couple of times a week, at least, he accidentally turns off the wall switch and suddenly, they no longer work. We have been over this more times than I can count but he just doesn’t understand. So, I smile and put them all back. With the flip of a switch, his world is momentarily right again. And I am an undeserved heroine.

The examples of exasperation are so great in number I could easily write an entire book on that subject alone. So can any caregiver. It is a common bond we all share along with exhaustion, worry, prayer, at times anger, and frustration… the list is never-ending.

Then there is the other side of the coin, the rewards we get from what we are doing. The love we give and receive in return, the joy at the tiniest of accomplishments. The satisfaction of doing something right, something that prolongs the life of someone we love. Here too, the list is never-ending.

We caregivers are jugglers. And we sometimes drop the ball. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t but the trick is learning to not beat ourselves up for it. The people in each of our lives who never pick up the ball to begin with are the ones who are losing. They will never know how much they have missed. Odds are, they will never care. Some people care too much. Some people don’t care enough. That’s just the way it is.

As for me, I’m just trying to keep my head held high and my balls in the air. And if I shed a tear or two along the way, I know it is alright. I will wipe my eyes and keep going for as long as I am needed.