Monday, January 23, 2006
"I know you don't like your physical dependence.
I know you dislike it so much that you prefer to forget it but you're independent of spirit and that's what's important." I said this to my mother earlier this evening and it seems to have lightened her load.
We had another of our typical, usually weekly, sometimes more often, incidents in which I am watching something on television that I want to watch all the way through. It is often something in which Mom's not interested. I try to keep these incidents to a minimum and it's not hard because I don't pay a lot of attention to TV; it's pretty much her domain. Occasionally, though, there's something I want to watch that I know is not going to catch Mom's interest. As fate would have it, these programs are rarely on when Mom is sleeping...probably because I don't watch TV at all when she's sleeping. Her sleep times are my vacation from TV.
Anyway, she'd already decided that she was going to stay up through The L Word and "my" program came on just previous to this so I thought I was safe. Just in case, however, I bathroomed her, filled her coffee cup and asked after all her needs just before the program. I also told her I expected she'd find the program boring, provided her with new issues of all her tabloids and thanked her in advance for her indulgence.
For some reason she decided to hone in on the program. It was, indeed, incredibly boring for her; so much so that about halfway through (it was a program without advertisements) she began to wriggle out of her chair.
Trying to stay abreast of both her needs and the program, I asked her, "What do you need, Mom?"
"I need to go to bed."
"I thought you were going to stay up for The L Word. It's right after this."
"It's not worth the wait. I'm going to bed."
"Are you tired?"
"Well..."
"Mom, if you go to bed, I'll miss a good 15 minutes of this program and it doesn't repeat." By this time I'd already missed a good minute of it.
"You don't have to go to bed, too."
"That's not the point, Mom. I know you don't like to remember this but when you go to bed I help you prepare. It takes about 15 minutes. Sometimes longer."
"You don't have to do that."
I sighed, although I tried not to sound annoyed. "Yes, Mom, I do. Listen. I don't want to miss anymore of my show explaining to you once again something you don't want to remember. Please. There's only about a half hour left, then The L Word comes on. I've already missed a couple of minutes, here. Would you please do me this favor and remain seated through the rest of this program?"
It was her turn to sigh. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. "All right. I don't understand why I can't go to bed, but all right. If you insist."
"Read your magazines."
"I can't keep my eyes off this show."
"Then watch it but, please, don't disturb my viewing of it anymore."
She forgot her annoyance with me and with the show I was watching almost immediately. She also forgot that the show had distracted her and read her magazines quietly until The L Word came on, which she enjoyed this week.
Afterwards we performed her bedtime routine. As she was putting on her pajamas I noticed that her forehead was crinkled more than usual with either worry or agitation. I asked her what was "on [her] mind."
"Oh, nothing. Well, something. I just don't understand why you feel the need to be right here with me every time I decide to do something."
"Does it bother you?"
"Well, sometimes. Like when you won't let me go to bed when I want."
Hmmm...I guess she didn't forget the earlier incident. "Well, Mom, sometimes I don't let you go to bed because you just woke up!"
We both laughed.
"You know what I mean," she said.
"Yeah, I do Mom. And I know you feel completely competent. I know you think I'm foolish and overbearing to be hounding your footsteps, literally and constantly. I know. You need to trust me on this, though. You're safe and comfortable and secure because I do this and it's an extra bonus that I do it so well that you think I don't need to do it. And I can't, in good conscious, stop doing it. It's my job. It's how you need to be taken care of, and I'm here doing the caring for you. It's my job to keep you safe and secure and comfortable and this is one of the ways I do it."
This is when I uttered the two sentences that open this post.
Her reaction?
She grinned with pleasure. "I never thought of it like that," she said.
Bingo! I thought. Now I know how to settle her down and seek her cooperation when she becomes so annoyed with my caregiving that she could scream.
Insight doesn't always emerge after hours of considered thought from on high with an aura of benevolence. Sometimes it offers its best treasures instantly and serendipitously in the sparks of conflict.
We had another of our typical, usually weekly, sometimes more often, incidents in which I am watching something on television that I want to watch all the way through. It is often something in which Mom's not interested. I try to keep these incidents to a minimum and it's not hard because I don't pay a lot of attention to TV; it's pretty much her domain. Occasionally, though, there's something I want to watch that I know is not going to catch Mom's interest. As fate would have it, these programs are rarely on when Mom is sleeping...probably because I don't watch TV at all when she's sleeping. Her sleep times are my vacation from TV.
Anyway, she'd already decided that she was going to stay up through The L Word and "my" program came on just previous to this so I thought I was safe. Just in case, however, I bathroomed her, filled her coffee cup and asked after all her needs just before the program. I also told her I expected she'd find the program boring, provided her with new issues of all her tabloids and thanked her in advance for her indulgence.
For some reason she decided to hone in on the program. It was, indeed, incredibly boring for her; so much so that about halfway through (it was a program without advertisements) she began to wriggle out of her chair.
Trying to stay abreast of both her needs and the program, I asked her, "What do you need, Mom?"
"I need to go to bed."
"I thought you were going to stay up for The L Word. It's right after this."
"It's not worth the wait. I'm going to bed."
"Are you tired?"
"Well..."
"Mom, if you go to bed, I'll miss a good 15 minutes of this program and it doesn't repeat." By this time I'd already missed a good minute of it.
"You don't have to go to bed, too."
"That's not the point, Mom. I know you don't like to remember this but when you go to bed I help you prepare. It takes about 15 minutes. Sometimes longer."
"You don't have to do that."
I sighed, although I tried not to sound annoyed. "Yes, Mom, I do. Listen. I don't want to miss anymore of my show explaining to you once again something you don't want to remember. Please. There's only about a half hour left, then The L Word comes on. I've already missed a couple of minutes, here. Would you please do me this favor and remain seated through the rest of this program?"
It was her turn to sigh. She made no effort to hide her annoyance. "All right. I don't understand why I can't go to bed, but all right. If you insist."
"Read your magazines."
"I can't keep my eyes off this show."
"Then watch it but, please, don't disturb my viewing of it anymore."
She forgot her annoyance with me and with the show I was watching almost immediately. She also forgot that the show had distracted her and read her magazines quietly until The L Word came on, which she enjoyed this week.
Afterwards we performed her bedtime routine. As she was putting on her pajamas I noticed that her forehead was crinkled more than usual with either worry or agitation. I asked her what was "on [her] mind."
"Oh, nothing. Well, something. I just don't understand why you feel the need to be right here with me every time I decide to do something."
"Does it bother you?"
"Well, sometimes. Like when you won't let me go to bed when I want."
Hmmm...I guess she didn't forget the earlier incident. "Well, Mom, sometimes I don't let you go to bed because you just woke up!"
We both laughed.
"You know what I mean," she said.
"Yeah, I do Mom. And I know you feel completely competent. I know you think I'm foolish and overbearing to be hounding your footsteps, literally and constantly. I know. You need to trust me on this, though. You're safe and comfortable and secure because I do this and it's an extra bonus that I do it so well that you think I don't need to do it. And I can't, in good conscious, stop doing it. It's my job. It's how you need to be taken care of, and I'm here doing the caring for you. It's my job to keep you safe and secure and comfortable and this is one of the ways I do it."
This is when I uttered the two sentences that open this post.
Her reaction?
She grinned with pleasure. "I never thought of it like that," she said.
Bingo! I thought. Now I know how to settle her down and seek her cooperation when she becomes so annoyed with my caregiving that she could scream.
Insight doesn't always emerge after hours of considered thought from on high with an aura of benevolence. Sometimes it offers its best treasures instantly and serendipitously in the sparks of conflict.
