The Bittersweet Dilemma
When I contemplate my elderly father these days, I’m struck by the mixed bag of emotions that I feel. On the one hand, I am forever the adoring little girl whose heart swells with love under the warmth of his gentle smile and steady, reassuring presence and who fears the day it will disappear. But on the other, I am the adult daughter who barely recognizes the man once as familiar as her own reflection and who struggles to conceal her growing frustration.
Our generation has arrived at that confounding phase in life where we’re now the adults in charge, confronted by aging parents who have suddenly reverted to a childlike state, requiring the constant attention and care that we once needed from them. It’s an uncomfortable twist that makes you realize that the higher power has a wicked sense of humor. We need to tread carefully, after all, as we’ll find ourselves at the mercy of our children in the frighteningly not-too-distant future.
Balancing family life, career, and our own needs with that of our elderly parents is no small feat. It’s a juggling act of the tallest order. Given their precarious and fragile health, we must be ready to drop everything and race to our parents’ sides for emergencies. As with our kids, we’re responsible for their welfare, out of love and duty. But we cannot neglect to maintain our own mental and emotional equilibrium in the process. It’s the age-old “put your own oxygen mask on first” sentiment, which wisely dictates that we prioritize our own well-being to effectively care for others.
My father’s increasingly forgetful mind, cantankerous moods, and irrational behavior coupled with my mother’s growing demands and endless complaints make caring for them challenging. Maintaining respect while dealing with my parents’ oft-crazy, stubborn behavior requires infinite patience and skill, almost like a delicate tango.
When my dad refuses to carry his cell phone in his pocket and gives everyone an ulcer by disappearing for hours without telling a soul, I want to scream in aggravation. The worry and fear that seizes my heart in those situations are no less than if my child wandered off. And when he returns safe and sound, all is forgiven in that instant because of the enormous relief and gratitude that washes over you when you love someone so deeply.
My mother once told me that old age has been the hardest to bear of all her hardships, including cancer. Plagued by an endless array of health concerns and a progressive loss of independence and autonomy, the elderly are no more thrilled with the reversal of roles than their wary offspring. Our parents are as loathe to burden us as we are reluctant to assume the additional responsibility.
For older men like my father, depression can quickly set in after retirement. Having to relinquish control over driving or financial matters when their health declines can prove emasculating and disheartening. When I take my father to his doctors’ appointments, I can sense his discomfort at being relegated a passenger as well as his worry that he’s inconveniencing me. Sometimes, it does create scheduling conflicts for me, but it’s no more troublesome than my dad driving me to my piano lessons or picking me up from school when I was a child.
This is why empathy matters so much. Only when we try to understand the impact of our parents’ altered physical and mental state on their emotional well-being will we be able to interact with them in a more loving, productive, and mutually respectful manner. Even if your relationship with them was never rosy and not likely to change drastically, it’s nevertheless a second chance to let peace define the end. By using compassion and love as a guide in our relationships, even when we’re at our wit’s end, we’re less likely to end up resentful.
Going back to my father, the most challenging aspect of his aging for me has been witnessing the change in his personality and vitality, due in part to multiple surgeries and in part to the natural aging process. Nowadays, it’s impossible to have a proper conversation with him. Though my dad was never overly talkative, he generally had a cheerful, engaging disposition and energetic presence. Today, he moves slowly, grows weary quickly, and speaks minimally. In short, he’s become old. Yet, he also never fails to smile whenever he sees me and still calls simply to hear my voice.
It’s a bittersweet dilemma we face. But I know this much. My heart cracks every time I consider my life without my father in it. Young or old, he’s still my hero. I have his back, just as he’s always had mine.
