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Managing The Stress ~ Making The Decisions ~ Discovering The Meaning |
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Caregiving |
Solutions To Your Caregiving Situations Throughout Your Caregiving Years |
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Life After Caregiving A Caregiver’s Reflection By Mirca Liberti (Editor’s Note: In 1977, Mirca Liberti co-founded an organization called Children of Aging Parents, an organization dedicated to helping family caregivers find support within their communities. Mirca recently shared her thoughts on her ten-year caregiving, experience, from 1974 to 1984, for her father.) As I look back over the 10 years I was a caregiver to my father, I realize they were the happiest and yet the saddest years of my life. My dad, Luigi, was an outstanding spouse, father and grandfather who would sacrifice everything for his family. As a child, I remember my dad being my caregiver. Since his job had flexible hours, he was home with me more than my mother, who had a 9 to 5 job. He nursed me when I had childhood diseases, as well as my bout with rheumatic fever and subsequent polio. He would go with me to the grueling therapy sessions and doctor’s visits. In World War I he was a medical technician, so I always felt confident he would do the best for me. In his lifetime he held several totally different and interesting jobs. During the prohibition he worked in a “speak-easy” which was an outlawed type of bar. He then became a fur dyer, a job which he loved but had to leave after a few years because he developed emphysema which plagued him all his life. He then became a “chef” and loved to show off his talents by preparing interesting and exciting dishes. I still can smell the 10 garlic heads which he would prepare for his famous “bagna cauda”, a type of fondue which was a blend of garlic, olive oil and anchovies. The mixture was cooked for about half-hour until the aroma of this cholesterol filled dish permeated both the inside and outside of our house. In spite of his arthritically-crippled hands, he never gave up his culinary art, spending hours preparing all the vegetables to be dipped in the fondue. We were spoiled in other ways, too. How many families have their underwear ironed? We did, thanks to Dad. During the 10 years he lived with us, I saw him become a prisoner in his own body—robbed of his independence, from cancer, emphysema, Parkinson’s and blindness. He was confined to a wheelchair with constant pain and suffering while always keeping his humor and love of life alive. When I learned that the stress of caring for him was ruining my health, I was forced to take a medical leave from my position as a teacher of the emotionally disturbed and physically challenged. The doctor said, “If you don’t do something now, you will precede him to the grave.” My dad needed 24-hour care. My husband and two children were a great support and helped out in many ways, but I felt “sandwiched” between their needs and my dad’s. When Dad went to bed at night at 8:30 p.m., I would breathe a sigh of relief and then start on my schoolwork and home chores. The time came to “live a lie”. When I finally took my medical sabbatical I knew I could not get the rest and relaxation I needed if I stayed home with Dad. We opted to keep the caregiver who spent the day with him when I was teaching so I could get some respite. He was told I was taking a leave to pursue further studies. So every day I would leave the house at 8 a.m. and go the Children of Aging Parent’s office. I had co-founded Children of Aging Parents seven years earlier and had become involved with families who needed help as caregivers themselves. I would take refuge at the office and rest in between telephone calls and the walk-ins who needed assistance. At 1:30 in the afternoon, I would go home, share my days’ “graduate-school experiences” and then excuse myself for a nap. My dad accepted this and, in fact, he would take his nap at the same time. As I look back, it was wonderful to see the bond that developed between my two children and “Nonno”. He shared his childhood and war experiences, his many different jobs and his love of family. It was so difficult to see him deteriorating before my eyes. He was unable to cook and iron—he had become totally dependent. The patriarch of our family had become victim of conditions for which some had no know cure and he could only get worse. Dad did leave a legacy for all of us. No matter how much you are suffering, there is always someone worse than you. Hold your head up high, enjoy life and give thanks for little things. Every year I go to visit my parents’ gravesite in Venice, Italy, where my parents retired. I thank him for having given me the opportunity to be a caregiver and to learn from my experience caring for him so I can share with others. Caregiving years, both happy and sad, are never forgotten. They are a symbol of the bond which otherwise may not have been tied and a lesson of life that no book could ever give. Thank you, Dad! Putting the Pieces of the Puzzle Together Reaching Clients Professionally and Personally |
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