I thought I was done with caregiving…

When my husband died just over three years ago, I thought I was done with caregiving. I was exhausted and drained from those years, even though we had help from aides the last of them. Mourning doesn’t have a fixed period. What’s the right amount? Thirty days? A year or two? More?

It can come in unexpected waves, or ripples in the stream of life, moments when there’s a sudden memory or sense of being alone, even though I have loving friends and family, wonderful students to teach, and a profession I enjoy.  Once the third anniversary of my husband’s death passed, I finally felt I was ready to enjoy my life, making the best I could of every day. I thought (repeatedly), “I don’t want to take care of anyone. I’m done. I just want to take care of myself.” 

But this past January, just as I was beginning my sabbatical semester leave, which I very much needed to do research, reading, thinking, and writing, (I was even planning to attend a conferences and see friends), everything changed. A beloved brother received a serious medical diagnosis. Only fifteen months younger than me, he would now be in need of care and assistance. As the oldest and his only sister, it has fallen to me to arrange health care, legal matters and various consultations, helping him while also worrying what it might take from me. Another brother has already taken on so much to help him for many years and has been a life-saver for both of us. But this situation has really thrown me. I find myself grieving all over again for a beloved person who is aging with serious health issues. And worrying about my own mortality. After all, I’m the oldest.

I’m sad and tired. Why can’t I be released from the physical, mental, and emotional job of caregiving? I want my life. But what if this is my life? 

A woman who had been in the Parkinsons support group with me said she was worried I was letting myself become “a victim.” What a strange remark. Caring for a family member doesn’t make you a victim, even if you wish you didn’t have to do it. When I talked to his oncologist (a wonderful doctor), she said, “well that’s what sisters are for.”  Hmmnn. The independent woman and long-time feminist balked at that too. 

Friends remind me, “practice self-care,” just as they did during the years Tony was ill. I do take care of myself - I cook and eat well, exercise mind and body, drink good wine, get sleep. Still, the phrase always bothers me, sounding narcissistic and vaguely masturbatory. Recently, I was at Bed Bath and Beyond and when I was checking out, what did I see displayed but a book called Love Yourself: A Woman’s Workbook. See what I mean? Could have been the title for a sex manual!

So here I am, helping my beloved brother as he begins going through chemo. The one kind of caregiving I’m particularly good at is food and nutrition, fully believing food is medicine and pleasure. First thing I did was making nutritious, tasty food that would help during chemo. I cooked red lentil soup with ginger and garlic, turmeric and cumin, a stick of cinnamon. I roasted red peppers and tomatoes and pureed them. I stewed green beans Greek-style with tomatoes, olive oil, lemons and oregano. Even if he would rather have chopped liver, pastrami and Danish pastry from my local Jewish bakery! How can I say no to him? Instead I say, strive for balance and please no chopped liver!.

Those are words to heed for me as well. Sometimes I think I care too much, that (as psychotherapists say) I don’t draw clear boundaries, especially with people I love.  A dear friend told me the other day, “Maybe you need to just accept that you are a person who cares and loves.” I know my caring is a gift (in two senses), but sometimes it feels like I have trouble setting parameters. We are supposed to be open, welcoming (in our communities, in our nation, embracing others, the stranger as symbolized by the Statue of Liberty with Emma Lazarus’s poem echoing Isaiah. It is an ideal, an aspiration. Yet there is no community and no personal identity that doesn’t require limits. How do I find the difficult balance between being open to and caring for others, and not losing or damaging myself? 

The challenge is to find the proper balance, and not stop caring even if we sometimes want to pull back, especially if it’s hard. Maybe that’s the challenge of life, for there will be no end to caring, to being called on to care for others, even if there are limitations to what each of us can do.