I watched a film tonight about a man who moved back home to take care of his father who had Alzheimers. The son was so upset at his dad because he forgot some of the most basic things, like putting on his pants before going outside, brushing his teeth or combing his hair. I watched as he screamed at his dad, held him down and berated him for his stupidity.

All this brought back memories of friends who went through the same frustrations trying to manage a parent in different stages of Alzheimers. I remember thinking, how sad they would feel so resentful of their parent for getting ill.

Those same grown-up kids were once the child, and I’m sure it was very disrupting for their parents as well. Have they thought about that? When it gets hard feeding their parents, changing their clothes, and watching over them, those children throw up their hands and put the parent in a nursing home to let someone else manage the responsibilities. Sometimes it is the best thing, but not always, and in a lot of situations the kids never come back to visit once they have “unloaded” the parent.

I read somewhere that the average lifespan of someone once they go into a nursing home is 1.5 years. In other words, they  just wait to die. That tugs at my heart. I worked in a nursing home when I was young. The work was hard but the rewards were great. The elderly people I took care of, would love to tell me stories of their life.   A couple of ladies crocheted ribbons for my hair and loved playing cards. Mostly, they all just loved having company and being able to interact with other people.

I thought of my own aunt who had been placed in a nursing home by her husband, and he also checked himself in, because he didn’t want to be without her. He just found it difficult to take care of her on his own since she had suffered a stroke. They still got to be together every day. The kids never came to visit. I lived so far away, that I could only see them every 5-6 months. One day, just little more than a year after being in the nursing home, her husband died of a heart attack. No one expected that. My aunt out lived her husband by one year and every time I would visit, she cried.  The time was spent comforting her.   She was lonely and missed him terribly, she wanted to go “home” to be be with him.  Even though I did very little talking on those visits, she got so much from me just being there.  Usually by the time I had to leave, she was smiling and laughing again.

I don’t know where I’m going with this but I hope I would not do that to my mother. She can be stubborn, and luckily she is still healthy as a horse, but the only thing she wants, is for her children to respect her decisions she makes for herself, and to not treat her like a little kid. That’s a pretty simple request.

What would it have been like, had our parents thrown up their hands when we were babies, or toddlers and given us to someone else, because they were tired of dirty diapers, midnight feedings, crying and everything else that little ones demand? How many times do you suppose they were tired and felt their life would never be the same? How many times do you suppose one or both of them cried because they felt like they reached their breaking point? Even if they reached the end of their “rope” they never gave up, and they continued to love you and care for you because they wanted you to have the best life they could imagine for you.

I know taking care of an elderly parent is hard. I went through that with a sick parent. It’s very hard. The thing that helped me get through the tough days was when I tried to put myself in their shoes, and wonder how my attitude would be if I were in pain every day, or if I went through days wondering why I couldn’t remember anything from one moment to the next. How terrifying that would be. I can’t imagine adding more stress on to a parent because my impatience and selfishness couldn’t take it any more.

I can only hope that as I get older, I pray that those I love, will have the patience and love to help me cope, and to not give up on me.