Are you dealing with end-of-life decisions for a loved one? 

Are you the family member, caregiver who will be the one to "pull the plug?"

It's a shocking analogy, but that's what people say--and that's how they feel--as they're the ones who will unhook or unplug the various machines that are sustaining life.

It's scary and no one wants to have to make these kinds of decisions--not for themselves or for anyone else.

Yet families are the ones that most often decide.

This is a part of caregiving we didn’t think about–or think all the way through.

No one wants to feel responsible for deciding if another person lives–or doesn’t live.

But you may find yourself in this very situation.

What do you do? How do you make such a monumental decision?

What if you decide wrong?

What if other family members disagree with you?

How will you live with yourself?

These are common questions that can absolutely paralyze you.

How do you decide?

First, if you’re not quite to this point, then do everything you can to get your loved one to sign a living will. Force it (Lovingly coerce) if you have to, if you feel you’re coming to the end of your window of opportunity. You’ll be glad you did. I highly recommend The Five Wishes living will.

If you cannot get them to commit to something on paper, then listen, take notes, and then decide on their behalf. They are essentially asking YOU to decide by them NOT deciding.

Know that you are not killing your loved one!

I cannot stress this enough. One of the greatest gift that working with hospice can give you is to reassure you that allowing someone to die is not the same thing as killing them.

Doctors will in many cases make you feel guilty. Their “oath to save” can get in the way of their humanity. I’m not trying to bash doctors, but it’s as if they don’t use their higher intelligence, intuition, and good horse sense to realize that we all will die–no doctor has ever saved a person from dying.

I know how scared you feel. How angry you are to be put in this situation. 

I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying a cement block of guilt in your chest wherever you go.

My mother, who had Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s was coming to the end of her life. She was 91, almost 92 and she had been living with me for the last year and a half of her life (and mine). It was tough.

My mother went from being unbelievably vivacious, cantankerous and demanding to being “lost” in Alzheimer’s, out of control, didn’t know me, and my caregiving had come down to sad to say, I felt as if I were caring for a wild animal at times.

I don’t meant that offensively–please don’t take it that way. I just felt as if I could not reach her. She was not there. I was performing a set of duties or functions, and that the mother I knew laid safely tucked away in my heart and my memories–but she was not this woman in front of me with a void in her eyes and an almost blankness to her soul.

She had signed a living will and had specified that she didn’t want a ventilator, but she did want pain medicine. The problem was, that was about the extent of it. She wasn’t in pain, she didn’t need a ventilator at the time, but the question of a feeding tube wasn’t addressed.

What was I to do?

I was beyond the end of my hope.

I had to decide. I was an only child. I was not about to pull in out of town relatives (none of whom had been involved with her care in the last 18 months) to then put their two cents in.

It was up to me. Hospice helped alleviate some of the guilt. They gave me–and my mother permission to let go.

That’s the day I became a woman. An adult.

Not the day I got married, not the days birthed my children–it was the day I had to decide how much longer my mother would live.

I knew rationally I was not kiling her. Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and heart disease had done that. But I knew that I could shorten her time. That was in my control, whether I liked it or not.

I thought long and hard about the feeding tube. What it would mean for her, for me, for my family. I knew the toll my caregiving had already exacted on all of us. But this was not a decision I felt I could necessarily make based on the good of the many…I had to decide about my mother’s life.

Whew. Tough. I did not want this. I did not want this decision. This responsibility. I wanted to run. Literally run, but I couldn’t leave my husband with this–as unfair as it was for me, it was even moreso for him.

It came down to this:

Even with a feeding tube, I couldn’t reverse the effects of these diseases. She would still have Parkinson’s. Still be lost in Alzheimer’s. Still had already had three heart attacks.

It was time.

Did having faith help?

Yes, it did, but I can also say that just about everyone fears and dreads death–we’re meant to love this world, love our bodies, our life and our families. Letting go is hard–no matter what’s to come.

Ironically, deciding wasn’t to be the most difficult part of my journey. It would be living with my decision. Sitting beside her as my choice played out before me.

I stop here and will blog tomorrow.

If you’re at the end of life crossroad, then take a moment and really feel this. Feel your fear, your concerns, and know that while this is very, very hard--you're not alone. You can come to place of peace. 

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated Blog at www.OpentoHope.com

They come once or twice a year (thank goodness, not more) and rearrange everything from your medicine cabinet to your car's glove compartment while proceeding to tell you (in subtle and not so subtle back stabs) how you could, should give better care--to mom or dad.

You're there 365 days a year. They're there for 10.

You're nice at first. Keep peace, you tell yourself...but by day three you're about to blow a gasket.

If your loved one has to go to the doctor or is in the hospital or in hospice and it's near the end--then it's ten times worse. They run the show. The doctors and nurses speak to them. Especially if they're an older sibling--then you're really in for it.

By the time they leave you can barely find your own socks.

You're angry, frustrated--and worse--your confidence has been undermined.

You start to doubt yourself.

You just want to quit. Fine then--take mom--take dad.

"Do it all yourself and I'll come back this time next year and boss YOU around for ten days."

That's what you'd like to say.

On top of that--your mom or dad like them MORE.

They get the smiles, holding hands, pleasantries you haven't seen in months--they sit at the table and gab like you do this every night and you feel like such a hypocrite. They're all in the livingroom talking after dinner--and where are you?

Loading the dishwasher.

I didn't have siblings, but I experienced this with several relatives who came into see mom--twice--once each in more than two years.

I went off for the day to give them time alone and when I had come home this person (no names) had reorganized my pantry and all my kitchen cabinets. She took me in there by the hand and showed me everything she had done and explained why her system should work better. I had to stand there like a ten year old in trouble and agree, yes, her system was better and I was a piece of ...well, you know.

I was so stressed, angry and nervous by the time she left I thought I'd collapse in a heap on the floor when she pulled out of the driveway. On top of that, I knew my mother had complained her head off about me--not taking her to church, drinking wine (my mother was a fundamentalist minister), watching movies with curse words, letting my daughters wear those short shorts...you name it.

The next time this happened was with a good friend of mine. My mother ate her up like she was homemade vanilla ice cream. They chatted and laughed--my friend washed my mother's hair and did her nails.

Made me sick.

I had asked my friend to come down to help me and this felt like betrayal. I know she didn't mean to but that's how it felt.

I felt judged--and poorly lacking.

Mother hadn't said a kind word to me in weeks and now she was a geyser of compliments.

Then I heard them whispering. Mother was crying (fake crying) and saying she wished I were sweeter, kinder, more patient, that she didn't know what she had done to make me act so cold to her.

My friend came out and a very concerned voice told me I needed to make up with my mother and forgive her.

I thought my head would split open. I felt betrayed by everyone.

Mother was up to her old manipulation tricks--and I knew this full well having experienced it countless time in forty years.

I told my friend she really had no idea what was really going on here and that I needed her to respect and trust me.

Later, she apologized. Her father got Alzheimer's and she dealt with her own family issues. She really didn't have anything to apologize for. I knew how mother had played her, but I understood.

I share all this with you to say this about relatives in town or out who make you question yourself:

Know deep inside you are a good person--a good daughter, son, spouse--and let no one shake you on this

Stop worrying about what other people think about you and your caregiving.

It's none of your business what others think of you. (How freeing is that?!?)

You're care giving because you believe it's the right thing to do. You have to give care the way you can--the way you can be consistent, they way that's right for you and your loved one.

Stand firm on this and don't listen to other's opinions. 

Unless they have done this for as long as you have, they can't possibly comprehend the level of sacrifice, committment, love, tenacity, and exhaustion you've endured.

Caregiving is a marathon not a sprint.

You may feel yourself pulling away from people.

That's part of caregiving.

You'll naturally pull in--for good and not so good reasons.

You'll get tired of explaining yourself.

You'll get tired of trying to be nice to people.

You'll get tired of feeling that everything you do is up for scrutiny.

You'll get strong and stop needing others to validate you or what you're doing.

That's the bottom line.

Your relatives, friends and neighbors will intimidate you just so far and then you'll find your backbone and stand your ground.

This is one of the best lessons of caregiving that can change you and how you deal with others for the rest of your life.

The anger and hurt will dissapte. In time.

These situations and people that threaten you will give you a gift--you'll find your own confidence.

You'll be in your own quiet center.

You will become strong, independent, and do what you need to do and you won't give a rip what others think.

~Carol D. O'Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Kunati Publishing, www.kunati.com/caroldodell

Family Advisor on www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog on www.OpentoHope.com

It’s not the family legacy most of us aspire to.

Depression affects approximately 19 million Americans per year, (National Institutes of Mental Health, 2000).

Depression is often not recognized in the elderly because the symptoms can be attributed to ”normal aging.” How sad, that we have come to believe that melancholy, lethargy and apathy are connected to older age.

Nearly 6% of the people in the United States over the age of 65 have a diagnosable form of depression, and while adults age 65 make up only 13 percent of the U.S. population, they account for 20 percent of all suicide deaths.

We should be more alarmed.

Who is most at risk? Our dads. Our husbands. Our brothers.

Male Caucasian are the over the age of 85 are the the highest suicide rate in the nation (National Institute of Mental Health, 2000). But don’t think mom is out of danger. While men tend to be more violent in their attempts, women tend to lead toward pills.

They’re also not talking. Elders are not like teenagers who threaten, make dramatic attempts in order to stopped (subconsciously). Many elders are not comfortable talking about mental illness and so they suffer intense feelings of loss, hopelessness and despair alone–never realizing there is help. They don’t have to feel this way.

Factors that Lead to Suicide:

• Recent loss of a spouse, loved one, or pet
• Debilitating or life-threatening illness
• Pain, especially if pain is severe, chronic, and/or inescapable
• Loss of independence and/or mobility
• Inability to live alone
• Loss of employment or productive activities
• Financial difficulties
• Depression
• Alcohol abuse and/or dependence
• Loss of role or stature in family and community
• Feelings of hopelessness and helplessness
• Physical, social, and emotional isolation

• Statements about death and suicide
• Reading material about death and suicide
• Statements of hopelessness or helplessness (e.g., “I don’t know if I can go on.”)
• Disruption of sleep patterns
• Increased alcohol or prescription drug use
• Failure to take care of self or follow medical orders
• Stockpiling medications
• Sudden interest in firearms
• Social withdrawal or elaborate good-byes
• Rush to complete or revise a will
• Overt suicide threats

• Be aware of your elder’s emotional state
• Be sensitive in times of a new loss, such as the loss of a beloved pet or dear friend
• Consider filtering the news–more negativity about the state of the world, wars, and the economy might not be the best thing for any of us to focus on
• Make a list of who your elder or spouse is most likely to talk to–a priest or pastor, a close friend, a nurse or doctor they’re closest to–let this person know of your concerns and ask them to listen closely for tell-tale signs.
• If you’re truly concerned, then talk openly about your concerns of depression and the risk of suicide. Don’t think you’ll cause suicide by talking about it.
• Let them know that their thoughts and feelings are normal, that despair is common, and that there are people who care who can help, that part of their feelings are triggered by life events, but also diseases and medication play into this.
• Let them know you’re not judging them. Life is hard. But this is not an option. You are there to help. There are medications, people to talk to, that their thoughts and feelings can change. Life is full of changes and this situation doesn’t have to stay the same.

I’m Afraid to Broach the Subject:

• They will get angry with me or deny it. So what if they do? This is too important and the risk is worth it. You don’t want all your love, time and caregiving to end this way. You don’t want this blow to hit you and your loved ones.
• I might put the suicidal thoughts into their heads. If your loved one is having suicidal thoughts, then they’ve probably been having them for weeks, months, or even years. For many people, depression is a lifelong battle and this may not be the first time they’ve found themselves in this debilitating emotional state. It is extremely unlikely that a caring question from another would convince a person, whether truly depressed or not, to commit suicide.

• I won’t know what to say. I know, this is tough. Bungle your way through it. Don’t think you’ll handle this perfect. You have no experience (I hope). Your love and emotions will come through no matter what words you are able to get out. It’s not your words that will convince them to get help–it’s your love and concern.

• Suicide greatly affects your life and other family members. Suicide ripples into the fabric of humanity. It’s a devastating blow for those nearby, so do all you can to prevent this tragedy.

• End of life and palliative care (to reduce pain during the last weeks and days of dying) is a different subject. This is a highly controversial area and one that should be handled privately with your “council of elders” (family, chaplain other faith leader, hospice, etc.).

How to Help Someone Who is Deeply Depressed and May Be Suicidal:

• Be sensitive, honest and straightforward. Come right out and ask: “Dad, I’ve been worried about you lately. You seem pretty down. I’ve noticed that you aren’t seeing your friends any more, and you’ve talked about not wanting to go on. Would you really want to die?”)
• Listen. After you’ve opened the discussion, then let them talk. Listen–listen all day long, ask questions that will encourage them to continue to talk and open up. Caregiving is more about listening than it is a to-do list.
• Seek help yourself–dealing with someone who is suicidal kicks up all kinds of emotions, particularly if they’re your spouse or parent or other close family member. Talk to your pastor or doctor or call a suicide hot line and let them know what you’re dealing with. Alzheimer’s Association and other organizations also have great hotlines with people who care, who know what it’s like to deal with depression and stress on top of a horrific disease. Reach out.

What If I Find Out They Are Contemplating Suicide:

• Do your homework. Make sure you know about the resources available in your area:
• Check the front of your telephone directory–or the Internet,as well as your local community mental health unit. They often have suicide hotlines and emergency inpatient crisis stabilization units available if the danger of suicide is high.
• Let your elder/spouse’s doctor know. Certain diseases and medications can aggravate the situation.
• A psychologist, psychiatrist or other therapist is another good option but c heck with your insurance as to what is covered.

Practical Things To Do Immediately:

• Get the guns out of the house
• Monitor all medications, including your own
• Stay close by. If you’re in a particularly dangerous time, monitor them 24/7 by granny cam/baby monitors
• Take threats serious and cause a fuss–make it unappealing to try again
• Get help immediately if there is an attempt. Don’t worry about embarrassment–this is bigger than that.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

It’s my dad who taught me about caregiving–a fancy term for just being a family. I can remember that Sunday afternoons were for visiting family–we visited his sister, brothers, nieces–and if anyone were in the hospital, Daddy went every day. Every day. Faithful and tireless. As big and tough as he was, he was a teddy when it came to family.

This weekend, if you have your dad–call him, hug him, make him smile.

Even the most tangled relationships have something to be thankful for.

Find a way to celebrate. I’m all for celebrations–life has a enough tragedies and I see it all as a giant algebra problem–I need to balance the sides–move something over and prove to the universe that it all adds up.

I hope you enjoy the things I’ve gathered about Father’s Day.

Feel free to email me back and let’s add to the list!

Great Dads Throughout History:

Marcus Aurileus, was the adoptive son of Annius Verus and is known as the “Philosopher-King.” The youth’s education embraced both rhetoric and philosophy; his manner was serious, his intellectual pursuits deep and devoted, so that the emperor Hadrian took an interest in him and called him “Verissimus,” “Most truthful.” He is considered one of Rome’s and history’s most thoughtful leaders.

Jose Marti is the father of freedom in Cuba.

Muhammed Ali is one of the greatest boxers in history and a loving father. Also, George Foreman who has a new book out about fathers where his greatest advice is “spend time” with your children–that’s your legacy.

J.R.R. Tolkien was a wonderful father who wrote many letters to his sons.

Albert Einstein was the father of modern science.

George Washington was the childless father of our country.

Nelson Mandela is the father of freedom in South Africa.

A.A. Milne based the character Christopher Robin in his Winnie-the-Pooh stories on his own son.

Jim Henson’smuppets and television show, Sesame Street, thrilled millions of children, including his own, who now carry on his tradition.

Martin Luther King, Jr. fathered American Civil Rights and believed that love, not violence, was the most powerful weapon.

Michael Jordan is a champion and a hero because he plays basketball with all his heart for his team, his family and his father.

Great Father Quotes:

“It no longer bothers me that I may be constantly searching for father figures; by this time, I have found several and dearly enjoyed knowing them all.” — Alice Walker

“None of you can ever be proud enough of being the child of SUCH a Father who has not his equal in this world-so great, so good, so faultless. Try, all of you, to follow in his footsteps and don’t be discouraged, for to be really in everything like him none of you, I am sure, will ever be. Try, therefore, to be like him in some points, and you will have acquired a great deal.” — Victoria, Queen of England

“That is the thankless position of the father in the family-the provider for all, and the enemy of all.” — J. August Strindberg

“It is a wise father that knows his own child.” — William Shakespeare

“One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.” — English Proverb

“To be a successful father . . . there’s one absolute rule: when you have a kid, don’t look at it for the first two years.” — Ernest Hemingway

“A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.” — Gabriel García Márquez

“I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.” — Sigmund Freud

“I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands work fifteen and sixteen hours a day. I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet, a man who came here uneducated, alone, unable to speak the language, who taught me all I needed to know about faith and hard work by the simple eloquence of his example.” — Mario Cuomo

“Be kind to thy father, for when thou wert young,
Who loved thee so fondly as he?
He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue,
And joined in thy innocent glee.”
– Margaret Courtney

“If the new American father feels bewildered and even defeated, let him take comfort from the fact that whatever he does in any fathering situation has a fifty percent chance of being right.” — Bill Cosby

“Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father!” — Lydia M. Child

“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished by how much he’d learned in seven years.” –

Mark Twain

Great Father’s Day Links:

http://wilstar.com/holidays/fathers.htm

http://www.history.com/minisite.do?

Happy Daddy’s Day~

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon Kunati Publishers, www.kunati.com

www.motheirng-mother.com

Family Advisor on www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHOpe.com

Posted in Alzheimer's, Daddy, Father's Day, abc.com, affection, authors, books, boomer women, care partner, care receiver, caregiver, caregiving, daughters, elder care, faith, family, family caregiving | Tagged fathers, great fathers in history, history channel, quotes, roman emporers | 1

My Daddy died at the average age men die in the US (78 years old), from the most common disease men die from–heart disease. Yet, Daddy was anything but typical. He was a big teddy bear of a guy who made my world right again.

I was adopted at the age of four years old–and my early years weren’t easy. My birth mother suffered from schizophrenia (severely and eventually permanently hospitalized), and addiction to alcohol and gambling choked all the life out of my birth father. My sister and I lived with my father’s co-dependent/enabler grandmother and was abused by a boarder who lived in her house. Not a great beginning.

I don’t share this with you to make you uncomfortable or to get sympathy points because my life didn’t stay that way. I was adopted and received layer after layer of personal healing and insights that allow me to incorporate this experience into my being.

Healing took a long, long time.

My adoptive Daddy was a big part of that. He was 54 and Mama was 50 when they adopted me. That’s taking a big chance–but it also shows what a void they had to fill.

He died when I was 23 years old. Too young for him to die–and too young for me. But he isn’t really gone.

He has become a part of me now–his songs, his stories, his gestures, his wisdom–I carry him every day.

I can see him just as clear as the first time I ever saw him. I see him just like I did when I was six and playing baseball in the backyard–he was sitting my lawn chair pitcher. I broke his garage window. Don’t know that he got too upset.

I remember the summer we had contest and ate 38 watermelons. He told me vines were going to shoot out my ears. I hoped it would.

I remember when I was 12 and just starting to like boys–Daddy drove me to the skating rink each Saturday night and picked me up at 11:00. I know he really didn’t want to get dressed and traipse out that late, but he did. I remember when he asked me if that boy kissed me. I lied and said, “No, Daddy.” He knew. I knew. But I couldn’t say the words–not to my dad.

I remember when I brought home countless boyfriends and the disgusting look he’d hide behind his newspaper. No one was ever good enough for his little sweety-pie.

Eventually, one was, and I married him. He loves my dad as much as I do. That’s why we’re still married–he reminds me of that honorable man who changed my life and he’s the daddy to our three girls. His face lights up when his daughters just walk into the room. His face lights up when I walk into the room–that’s why I keep him.

I never got to be my dad’s caregiver the way I did with my mom. But I promised him we would take care of her. That promise got me through some rough times.

I hope you enjoy a short excerpt from my forthcoming book, SAID CHILD.

It’s about our night time ritual and coming home after church. (Being raised in church means I have many, many memories of life on the pew). Perhaps this excerpt will spark one of your own favorite memories. The greatest thing we can do for our dads on Father’s Day is simply to remember.

Enjoy!

Excerpt from SAID CHILD:

Daddy slid next to us after his usher and elder duties of collecting and counting the money were complete. We’d all squeeze into the pew making room and he’d have to pull on his coat a few times to get comfortable. He’d reach in his shirt pocket and in one continuous smooth move, a gold package of Butter Rum Life Savers appeared and the fleshy underbelly of my tongue salivated. I got one, he got one and he’d wink. Mama preferred peppermint. Peppermint reminded me of the nausea of backseat card rides.

I’d roll the butter rum disk around in my mouth and hold it vertical between my teeth, my tongue reading the raised letters as if in Braille. I’d lay my head against Daddy’s arm, recognizing the texture of his different suits, and then he’d put his arm around me and poke his finger in my ear. I brush it away and he’d smile without looking at me. I snuggled up waiting for my butter rum Life Saver to dissolve so I could get another one. As the preacher’s words droned on and on, I knew we’d never make it home in time to see the Sunday night Disney movie. We never did. Missing all my favorite TV shows was the worst part to me. I’d have to run a fever or throw-up to get to stay home.

Daddy covered my legs with his jacket and patted me until the sounds and lights muffled, dimming into soft shades of gold as I watched my eyelashes fold again and again, the world now fuzzy and black. I barely remembered most of the car ride home on Sunday nights and Daddy would place me between the cool sheets long after I was too big to be carried, my lanky legs scraping the bed and the quilt slid in place.

Daddy half-whispered, half-growled, “My baby done gone to sleep, Lord bless my little sweety-pie.”

He’d sing me to sleep and I’d always ask for Mr. Moon.

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon,

Oh won’t you please shine down on me.

For my life’s in danger and I’m scared to run,

There’s a man behind me with me with a big shot gun,

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon, oh won’t you please shine down on me. Boom, boom, boom.

***

The power of a great dad changes a child’s life. And it keeps changing it. Even after our dads are no longer walking on this earth. Whispered wisdom, needed advice, family traditions and that sense of security never goes away.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com, publishers

Whether you’re in a committed relationship, married, have children, adult children, siblings, aging parents, and even friends--you'll eventually hit a  road block in your relationship.

Yet most people don’t speak up. They get hurt or mad and they don’t say anything–not to the person who they’re mad or hurt at–maybe they complain to someone else, or just stuff it.

The the relationship begins to wane. It feels like work.

You grow apart and you don’t even know why.

There’s no way to stay in a long-term relationship and not have issues.

Hurts, frustrations, “you weren’t there for me,” “I can’t believe you said that, betrayals and disappointments are all a part of being human.

We tend to fight with our spouses/significant others the most.

But we’re not good at it.

If you do fight, you use dirty tactics.

Accusations, “you always,” “you never,” you did this, you didn’t do that, and before long you’ve got a tangled history together and whatever issues you had in the beginning–seeds of doubt, hurt, mistrust–they’re all there playing over and over in each new scenario. 

This can cause deep and lifelong issues.

Divorces are so common that they’re barely a blip in a conversation to say a friend got a divorce. No one really asks or wants to know why–and yet those who go through it know that it’s devastating on the heart, head, pocketbook, and most importantly, how you perceive yourself.

How do you stop this cycle?

Two easy steps.

Before I share with you what they are, let me assure you I’m learning how to do this myself.

I have grown daughters and I really don’t want them to hate their mom. I don’t want them to complain about me for years–to everybody else but to me–and then for us to wonder in my old age what went wrong. I don’t want their emotional pockets filled with boulders of hurt, disappointment and frustration.

So, I took a big deep gulp and called one of my daughters today.

I apologized for an issue I’d heard was bothering her. I took accountability.

Then, I asked her that in the future she tell me when she’s hurt or frustrated with me.

I told her that I had blamed my own mother for emotional “crap: for years. I had griped and whined and didn’t let go over things that really didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. I should have let her off the hook and I didn’t. Eventually yes, we came to a place of peace but I carried around those stones for far too long.

I asked my daughter to come to me. I gave her permission to approach me when I’m irritating.

I told her that I want to become a better person–a better mother–and how can I do that if she doesn’t let me know what’s hurtful or frustrating? I told her that I dearly loved her and I wanted a healthy relationship with her.

It took her off guard.

Most people I know don’t have this conversation often enough–if at all.

I learned it primarily from life–from living long enough to have a few regrets. I don’t want regrets, hurts, and disappointments to plague my life and mind. I want to lighter, free-er and more joyful–and I can’t get there without letting go of a few things along the way.

I was crying by the time I got through. It was vulnerable and scary–but I really, really want to have a good relationship on my daughters based on respect, love, and tenderness toward one another. I also need to be thier role model as a woman, wife, mother, and friend.

IMPROVE YOUR RELATIONSHIP IN TWO EASY STEPS:

1.     I ask you, give you permission to tell me when I”m being difficult, frustrating, or I’ve hurt or disappointed you.

2.     The easiest way I know to do this is to start the conversation by….”It really hurt when you _________.” I felt so _______________ when you did that. Next time please _______________.

**********************

It sounds so simple, but it’s so scary!

I also told her that if she didn’t come out and say something by the end of 90 days I was going to ask her because I’m sure that I can irritate anybody by the end of 90 days.

Author and speaker Jack Canfield wrote about doing this in his book, The Success Principles. I would eat that book, digest it and live by it if I could. It’s such a Bible of personal integrity, purpose, and meaning that’s rare, particularly in the media world.

Jack said that he asks his wife at the end of each week (as well as his co-workers–and he owns a MAJOR company) on a scale of 1-10, how was he this week–as a husband? Boss?

After that he asks, “How can I make it a 10?”

That takes guts. I’m impressed.

We’re so afraid of being criticized that we don’t realize that’s how we grow and change.

Whether you’re a caregiver, an adult child, an elder parent, a spouse or sibling, I encourage you to take this little two-step script, print it off if you have to, and have this very important conversation. It’s vital when you’re dealing with end of life issues, when you return to care for your family and all your tangled history is in your face and your life again. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

And it doesn’t mean everything can be fixed. Or that you should try to make someone happy all the time.

This is meant to open the dialogue. To understand each other–not as a giant wish list. Sometimes boundaries and respect are what’s really the goal.

Let’s heal old wounds. Forgive. And make new choices about how we treat each other.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.comKunati Publishers, Winner of ForeWord’s Small Publisher of the Year Award

Ted Kennedy have been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. He had a seizure and went into the hospital just last weekend.

Yet today, he and his wife, Vicki went sailing. He loves sailing and the Boston Globe said he “finds renewal on the water.”

Ted Kennedy is actually teaching his family and others how to treat him. The Chicago Tribune wrote, “Kennedy’s cancer is dire, not hopeless.”

It’s proven that prayers and good thoughts can impact people’s lives clear across the country–and we can create the atmosphere and attitude around us by how we handle our own bad news.

One of the drawbacks to early diagnosis is giving up too soon.

Early detection should mean that you receive proper medication, spend time with your loved ones, and make plans to live–not die.

In the case of Alzheimer’s, the average patient lives 8-10 years, and even longer depending on the age you contract this disease. Parkinson’s, ALS, MS, and other diseases can even offer a longer lifespan. Coincidentally, the average caregiver spend 4.3 years caregiving–leaving a bit of a discrepancy here.

The message is: don’t give up too soon.

Don’t hear a diagnosis and go home, draw the curtains, curl up in a fetal position and wither away.

As a family member or caregiver, it’s a blow to hear that your loved one has a terminal illness, but you still have to get up and face each day.

Michael J. Fox says that Parkinson’s is “the disease that keeps on taking.” He’s chosen to live with his disease. He’s chosen to do this for the millions who look to him and rely on him to raise money for research, for the difference he’s already made, but I’m sure he does this even more for his wife and his children.

Maya Angelou says, “We teach people how to treat us.”

Yes, it’s natural to feel kicked in the gut.

It’s natural to take to the bed, cry, get angry, lash out or pull in. Don’t beat yourself up for going through this very natural stage.

But after that, it’s time to move on.

You (or your loved one) most likely won’t die tomorrow. Or the next day.

So you take your meds, maybe get physical or occupational therapy. Change things around in your home, hire a home health aide, buy a walker or scooter or whatever else you need. Life is different. I don’t doubt that. But life can still be good.

Sometimes our purpose is nestled in our situation. Sometimes something–or someone arises in our midst and a window opens where a door shut.

Yet, there will come a time–hopefully in the distant future when the tide turns again.

You, or your loved one may die from this disease, I can’t promise you won’t. 

If not, from something else.

We have to eventually accept that as well. Another transition. Another acceptance. Another change.

But until then, live, live, live, live, live.

Last night, the television show Boston Legal had one profound moment relating to Alzheimer’s.  

The premise is that one of their leading characters, Denny Crane (played by William Shatner) has early Alzheimer’s. He’s a brilliant attorney who has never lost a case–and he’s part owner in firm. The other law partners are hesitant for Denny to continue to litigate. Not only is he forgetful, he sometimes does or says bizarre things. Things Alzheimer’s patients might say or do.

Great scenario because I happen to know a great law professor from Yale who lives in my community who now has Alzheimer’s. You can be homeless and live under a bridge–and have Alzheimer’s, AIDS, or cancer–or you can be the president of the United States.

At one point, Alan, Denny’s best friend is having a conversation with Jerry, another lawyer in the firm, (who suffers from Asperger’s syndrome) about what a phenomenal job Denny did in court. Jerry blurts out, “Too bad Denny’s dying from Alzheimer’s.”

Alan is shocked. Insulted. He retorts:

“Denny’s not dying from Alzheimer’s. He’s living with it.”

There’s a great distinction here.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Check out her book, a day-to-day, intimate and honest look at caregiving…

Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com/mothering