My first brush with understanding what caregiving was about came at a young age. I was a pre-teen, and we had not long been in Charlotte and living in a two-story apartment when mom and dad asked my grandmother (mom's mom) if she wanted to move here to live with us.
Gran, who RedState readers would have loved in part because she was a firm believer in the power of carrying for self-defense, was dealing with some health issues. While she wasn't alone in the town she lived in, all the family members who lived near her were her age or older had issues of their own with which they were dealing.
She accepted the offer and ended up living with us for four years until she passed away in the hospital just a few weeks before Christmas. I still remember the Christmas gift my 12-year-old self had bought for her, which I had already wrapped and put on her bed, thinking surely she'll be home in time to be able to open it (it was a fancy-looking faux silk scarf and umbrella set that I think she would have really liked).
I don't remember a lot about that timeframe in my life, but I do remember mom and dad were juggling a lot between working to provide for two teenage girls and one pre-teen, and then were taking care of gran on top of that.
SEE ALSO (VIP): Caregiver's Diary Part 35: You Are Enough
Six years after we lost Gran, I was preparing to graduate from high school. Like many of my classmates, I had purchased one of those neat "memory books" where you not only write about your past experiences but shared thoughts on where you thought you might be in 10 or 20 years. The idea was that you'd look back at the book one day to remember old times, and to see if your predictions about the course your life would take were close to the mark or way off.
My goals were like those of many people at the time: Go to college for four years, find a good job once I graduate, find a good man and have a couple of kids. I wanted the white picket fence and the whole nine yards, and I wanted it by the time I hit 35.
But for various reasons, some rather boring and others too personal to share, my life took a different direction. God had a different plan in mind. I was caregiving to some extent by the time I was in my late 30s (while still working outside the home), and a decade or so after that, it pretty much became a full-time responsibility, between helping my mom care for my dad and then moving back in and caring for her.
There are times when I'm sitting on the front porch, or when I'm getting ready to call it a night and am about to tuck in, that I think about "what might have been" had my life taken the direction I initially hoped/thought it would.
And then I start to feel guilty for doing so, with my rationalization being that it's unfair to my mom for me to be having such thoughts, considering she certainly hadn't planned to be diagnosed with colon cancer at age 79, and that my dad had certainly not planned to spend the last near-11 years of his life on dialysis and with other debilitating health issues.
We're always being thrown curveballs in life, whether you're a caregiver or not, but they hit a little differently when the course you mapped out for your life has to permanently change. As caregivers, we shouldn't feel guilty for reflecting on "what might have been," because we're human. But it's probably best not to overly dwell on it, because too much focus on the past and things you can't change takes away from trying to enjoy living in the present and making the best possible life and the person for whom you are caring.
Every situation is different, of course, but that's the line of thinking I've gravitated to in recent months amid health challenges for both mom and me. I'm learning more and more to be calm, content, and grateful, because God has blessed me with the ability to care and provide for my mom and myself in ways that I would not have dreamed were possible five or six years ago.
DIVE DEEPER: To check out my previous Caregiver's Diary entries, please click here. Thank you!
