It’s true about children, and it’s true about the elderly. I learn and grow every single day of caring for Gram. Sometimes I wish there was a “100 Things You Need to Know About Caring for the Elderly” book or a “5 Things to Do to Keep a Peaceful Inter-generational Home” article, a quick and easy guide to handling all of the odd and unexpected sources of conflict and confusion. But there isn’t (or maybe you’ve found it, the holy grail of elder care, and if you have- please tell me!). So I stumble around, as though feeling my way around in the dark, trying my best, and sometimes I stumble upon something helpful. I want to share those helpful things, in case anyone else experiences similar.
“Help me understand.”
“Help me understand” is a phrase that has the power to diffuse a confrontation. It takes us from a place of judgement or anger or frustration and moves us into a place where we can really talk, where Gram feels safe and comfortable, and is able to both hear and be heard.
Help me understand why you are filling your pockets with chicken. Help me understand the feelings, the emotions, the memories that are making the irrational seem rational.
Gram and I had this conversation after dinner tonight. And it took me taking a beat, taking a breath, and remembering to not go over and take the chicken from her like I would from a child. Because despite the fact that their actions have things in common, Gram is a full grown adult, a woman who has lived and loved and seen more than I have. She may have dementia, but she also has wisdom, and she has innate dignity that commands respect. So even though I was feeling frustrated because we’ve had the food hoarding conversation hundreds of times, the words I said were, “help me understand.”
And so we talked. And she talked about my grandfather and being a young married couple, she talked about her father-in-law being terrible, she told snippets of memories that she holds on to because they are part of her. And as I listened to stories I’ve heard a hundred times, I realized that I need to listen with open ears and an open heart because I don’t want be one of the people Christ spoke of when He said that they hear and yet, do not hear, do not understand.
So I listened, and here is what I heard, though these were not the words that were said. Gram is a child of the depression, so she does not waste food. She is also fiercely independent, so the idea of asking us to put the food up for her for later is difficult. And so she hides, and she hoards. The more I pause, the more I open up my heart, and pay attention, the easier it is to understand.
Did it change anything? In the practical sense, on Gram’s end, no, probably not. Gram still has chicken in her pocket, and I will creep into her room later, go into her hiding places, and take it away, just as I always do. Most likely she won’t remember that she had it, and there won’t be another confrontation on the issue tonight.
But every time we have one of these conversations, where I take the approach of seeking to understand, there is a glimmer of hope, of deepening of relationship, of new growth. Sometimes it’s practical, like the time I finally got her to understand why she can’t keep hard-boiled eggs in her dresser. And sometimes it’s emotional, like tonight, when she heard again that we love her, that we want to take care of her.
On my end, I gained two important insights from this conversation. The first is that I need to focus on Gram’s food needs as we get ready to move into the new house. She moved into this house after we were unpacked and settled. This time we will all move in at the same time, and we have the opportunity to make her a part of the process of setting up and organizing the kitchen so she feels as comfortable as possible and is as independent as is safely possible.
The second thing I gained was that I need to tell her that I love her more. Certainly I do, and I work hard to show it in my actions. But I need to say the words more, to get down at her level, look her in the eye, and tell her how grateful we are that she is here, that she is a part of our family, our everyday lives. It’s true, and she needs to hear it more than I say it.
So we will start again, she and I. Hopefully with less chicken hoarding, but definitely with a deeper relationship.