Sydney Avey
Dynamic Woman — Changing Times
Assisted Living: Dividing lines
When you move in to give assistance to an aging parent, the dividing lines between parent and child, yours and mine, begin to blur. At the same time, the divide between cultures and generations sharpens.
No matter your situation, whether you are nobly stepping up to your responsibility or bravely wrestling control away from a parent who does not recognize their peril, you are bound to feel like the bad guy at some point.
The role reversal is uncomfortable. You look for ways to respect the dignity of the person whose life you are raiding. You try to involve them in decision making, help them feel a sense of power and control they no longer have, and you run smack into the problem that brought you to this place. Grandma can no longer make a decision. Any decision.
Case in point, it appeared that the neighbors had been using grandma’s closet at their personal recycling center. Her closet was stuffed full of torn, stained size 14 clothes. (She is a size 6.) Before I caught on, I sat her on the bed, whipped one article of clothing after another out of the abyss, and held it up. She had one of two responses.
“I might wear that someday.”
“I don’t remember who gave that to me, so I better keep it.”
I sent her to the kitchen to eat her lunch and began making heartless decisions. Into the trash went the “gift” clothing. I set aside the lovely suits she no longer wears to give to the consignment store, but when time got tight and I pictured someone in town showing up at her church in her clothes, they went in the dumpster.
Friends and neighbors
In my California culture, people power through. They get things done. Quickly. Friends and neighbors respect your time, offer help if you need it, and stay out of your way. In the Arkansas culture, friends and neighbors need to be factored in because this is happening to them also. (I spent years trying to wrap my head around that perspective.)
We moved grandma to her new home before we dismantled her old one so she wouldn’t have to see the chaos. In the transition, her neighbors came in a steady stream of twos and fours, always with the same approach; first the tears, then the offers of help, then the requests.
“Is she taking her lovely couch? My niece could really use a couch.”
“If she isn’t taking that TV stand, I know Bertie could use one.”
I stiffened. The vultures are circling. Then God got a hold of my heart and mind and I saw the cultural difference. I listened and gave them each a hug. I gave them jobs to do. I identified the booty that would likely become available and told them they would need to decide among themselves who got what.
A day before we were to hand over the keys to her old apartment, the consignment store we had contacted to take the furniture bailed on us. Rather than panic, I sensed that God had another plan; dispersion rather than disposal. By the end of the day, the apartment was empty; picked clean. It was just what needed to happen.
Our way, to ignore the neighbors and take care of things ourselves, would have worked. Respecting the culture worked better.
The cultural divide
If you are dealing with a cultural divide, here are some considerations.
Economies differ. People in rural areas with limited resources rely on a barter economy. They don’t throw stuff away. They recycle everything. Grandma still lives in this community and you will be visiting more often. Don’t be standoffish. Accept their help and pay for it with stuff.
There is a pecking order. One woman took everything I placed on the “free” table into her apartment. She told me it was to protect the items from people who came in off the street to grab stuff to sell at flea markets. She would decide who got what in the apartment complex. I’m sure she earned this responsibility, because no one objected and everyone got a memento they cherished.
The generational divide
Our parents grew up with different values. Quick and efficient weren’t top on the list. My friend Pam said, “Some of this I did ok with, other things not so much, like letting my Mom decide on her own reclining chair –I thought I was making it easier for her by just buying it, but she felt stripped of the little power she had left.”
Our parents are proud people who mourn their loss of independence. They don’t want to be dragged into the 21st Century either. We are all walking in new territory.
photo credit: sumeet.moghe via photopin cc
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very helpful to anyone that may have to do this one day. Nice Sydney.