Wishing for Worse to Get Better


Wishing for Worse to Get Better

I'm in an odd space with my parents.

They decline but slowly. Their slow declines mean we continue to slowly help more.

The slowness sometimes feels unbearable.

I find myself wishing they would get worse and fast.

When they get worse, I can get better help. I can get them back on palliative care, from which they graduated in 2016. When they get worse, I can take on more decisions without worrying about taking away their voice. As odd as it sounds, when it gets worse, in some ways it gets better.

These are the kind of waits during caregiving which can be so difficult to bear.

I can choose, though, how to make good use of the wait.

As I wait, I'll make use of the time. My ongoing prompts for my parents to share their funeral plans finally worked -- I now know their wishes. Last year, we updated their wills and durable Powers of Attorney to reflect their wishes today. Now I need to organize their world so that we keep going after one's death and another's survival. I'm going to make sure I automate payments for their bills and add my name (or my brother's name) to their bank accounts. I talked out my concerns with my niece, who offered to spend time with my parents capturing more of their stories.

I was cursing the wait. Now I will thank it for the opportunity to get ready and to preserve.

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Thank you, Denise, for continuing to show us ways to walk through caregiving. No one wants to be where you are. No one chooses to be where you are. But you walk with us, beside us, and show us the way.