One of the hardest parts of elder care, at least for me, is finding the right balance between what Gram is capable of and what she needs help with. As she’s gotten older, we’ve seen new losses of capacity, most of which happened gradually, though looking back at where she was 4 years ago and where she is now, is quite striking.
Gram has always been fiercely independent, and regularly states that she never expected to live so long. Which makes sense. As she grew up, most people didn’t live to 96, and all the effects of old age- incontinence, dementia, arthritis, difficulty walking, etc., etc., etc.- were not talked about. So many times Gram feels all alone in what she’s going through.
The other thing I’ve realized, and forgive me if I’ve said it before, is that our society places such a value on what we do, that we can forget to value people for who they are. Gram is valuable because she is made in the image and likeness of God. She is loved because she is Gram. And that is an incredibly hard lesson for anyone to learn, myself included.
Which brings me to the specific situation we are currently in. Since moving in, Gram has handled her own denture care (she has an upper and lower partial), except for when she was recovering from the hospital and couldn’t walk or remember who she was. But for the last month or so, she’s been losing teeth. And I’ve been noticing that her time in the bathroom, when she’s supposed to be brushing her teeth and cleaning her dentures, has gotten shorter and shorter. She’s also been eating less, which I think is a result of the dentures being uncomfortable in her mouth.There are a couple reasons for this I think- first, her dementia has been increased lately, and I think she is honestly forgetting more steps of the process; and second, it’s getting harder and harder for her to stand at the sink without feeling like she’s going to fall.
After several gentle reminders about teeth care and a conversation with my mom to make sure we were both noticing the same things and were all the same page, I realized that the status quo was not working anymore. Quite frankly, she can’t keep losing teeth, and she needs to eat. So I sat down with her to have a chat with the end goal of taking over her denture care in mind.
I like to approach these types of conversations gently, ask her if we can talk, and then simply state my observations. I then ask if what I’m seeing is how she’s feeling. For example, this time I said, “Gram, I’m noticing that you’re eating less at dinner and seems like it’s harder for you to chew. Are your dentures giving you more trouble?” It’s a way to ease into the conversation without putting her immediately on the defensive.
She feels heard and listened to (which of course she is) as she gets the chance to explain what she’s experiencing uninterrupted- this is a hard part with someone with dementia. Gram veers from conversation topic to topic in a seemingly random pattern, and while it doesn’t make sense to those of us listening, it does in her head. She takes offense when we try to “get her back on track” because to her, she’s already there.
After she’s explained her experiences, I try my best to paraphrase back to her the salient pieces, and then add in a little bit of, “hmmmm, it sounds like this doesn’t feel good/isn’t working for you.” This is when we usually hit the first of the pushbacks. Gram does not like to feel like she’s making extra work for us. Or like we are saying she can’t do something.
Here’s what has worked for me when this happens: I take her hand, look her straight in the eyes, and remind her that we love her for who she is, not what she can and can’t do. And then I tell her that even though she might not have known that any of this was coming, we did, and we still wanted her here. We knew what we were getting into when we chose an intergenerational household- we knew it would mean more care.
Gram is a gift to us. It is a gift to be able to serve her, love her, help prepare her heart and soul to meet Jesus someday. And sometimes I fail miserably at conveying that to her. Sometimes I’m tired and frustrated and short and feel like I have nothing left to give. And in those moments, I do my darndest to take a breath, say a prayer, and ask for grace. Because she is God’s Beloved Daughter, and she deserves to be recognized as such and treated as such. And maybe, just maybe, if we love her that way, say it enough, and show it enough, she’ll come to fully believe it.
She doesn’t right now. When I tell her, she smiles and shakes her head in disbelief, and tells me again how much she used to do for others. And in her honesty, I’m reminded that I too struggle to hear those same words when they’re said to me, when I’m in the middle of a particularly tough season of fibromyalgia or when pregnancy has me flat out, and suddenly I can’t do for my family what I normally do, when I’m totally reliant on others. In those moments and in many others, I’ve struggled with knowing in my bones that my truest identity as Beloved, as Daughter of the King. These days though, I’m finding that it is in looking at those He has put in my care, Gram, the children, in seeing them through His eyes, in upholding their dignity and value and personhood, that I find myself more secure in my own.