The Zen of Caregiving

A Simple Breathing Space Diffuses Critical Words

We celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary a few days ago on the Fourth of July.  For years we've never been alone on our anniversary because it is a holiday weekend and we always had children or other family around.  Ironically, this year we got to spend it alone.

"How would we celebrate?" I thought, now that Adrian is frail and forgetful and doesn't like to go out to eat.

We played ping-pong in the cool basement, which he can manage for a while until his shoulder aches too much.  Then we took his favorite dog (our neighbor's) to a place nearby with trails and a pond.  We shuffled slowly along the trails as the dog bounded happily after rabbits and took a swim. 

Adrian still likes to eat, so I made one of his favorites--a blueberry pie.  I also cooked a roast chicken, baked potatoes, and a mushroom-onion gravy. When he asked for seconds on the potatoes, I offered the gravy as well. 

"The gravy is too greasy."  He said.  "And how come the potatoes are cold?"

Boy, in years past I would have jumped into self-pity and righteousness on that one!  "I slave over a hot stove all afternoon, only to be criticized?!" 

But before I let myself think those thoughts, I took a deep breath.  Adrian is not criticizing me, I realized.  He is simply stating how the food is for him.  It's too bad he isn't enjoying the gravy.  And the potatoes are cold because we have the fan on overhead.  He was simply responding to his experience. 

Wow, what a difference that makes in how I feel!  

Plus, I loved the whole dinner, including the greasy gravy, and the pie! 

Is Mindfulness a Cure-All?

In my life with bipolar disorder, and my life as a caregiver, I alternately fall in love with mindfulness and despair of it's curing anything:

    When I can be present and listen mindfully to Adrian without reacting defensively, negatively or impatiently, we both come away from the experience feeling more peaceful. 

    When I take the time for a fifteen-minute morning meditation before I begin work, It helps sustain me throughout the day. 

    The more I can stop whatever I'm doing or thinking, take a deep breath, and come back to the present, the better my day goes.

    Yet it takes a certain baseline of composure and well-being for me to allow myself to be mindful.  When I am in the depths of despair and numbing depression, it's hard to be present.  My desire then is only to escape. 

    When I'm in the depths I can't imagine ever feeling peaceful again.  And now, when I'm feeling the abiding peace and joy of being present, I can't imagine not being able to summon up the friendly breath of mindfulness at any time.

The Caregiver Dies First

I just heard of another case where the caregiver died first.  This was a wife who was taking care of her husband who had Alzheimer's.  Tragically, this is all too common.  The stress of caregiving eventually wears out the caregiver, who is physically exhausted, and he or she dies before the loved one being cared for.

I am trying very hard to be more patient, loving and kind in the face of Adrian's disability.  I meditate every morning and try to see the challenges we face as opportunities to practice mindfulness and living in the present moment.

However, this doesn't mean I don't have to set boundaries, maintain my own health, and ask for assistance from family members and friends.  I cannot do this alone.  Ruining my own health and sanity would not help Adrian, either. 

Caregivers, make sure you are getting the help you need and taking care of yourselves!