In the Quiet Time
A prescription for a solo break for the exhausted caregiver
For a couple weeks, I’ve been peppered with gentle friends offering hugs and asking what they can do to help. I am not sure what to say. My father passed away at the end of June following a fight — with him, most things were indeed a fight — with cancer and dementia. I’ve needed help, so much help, this past year. Now when offers are pouring in, I don’t know what to ask.
It’s all so quiet.
The constant calls and demands stopped abruptly. My own complex emotions, I had placed as well as I could to one side as I cared for a parent who had not treated me well, but couldn’t even remember within a given conversation that he’d just blown up. He didn’t know who he’d been to me.
It made for a noisy mind for me. His voice called up the past; his present needs, whether urgent or not, were voiced as immediate.
A friend of mine, a nurse, stopped me about a week ago to give her sympathies. As we talked about what this time had been like, she let me know that she hopes someone, somewhere is keeping score…
