My parents have had a lot of health struggles this year.
Here is my kneejerk response to that reality.
“I, Tara, will save and fix everything!
I will turn back time!
Since the doctors are so busy, I will get to the root of medical issues better than even the doctors can!
Also, I will make sure my parents are aging in precisely the right way, with the correct mindset, attitude, and amount of help. (The right way is, of course, the way that appears to me as the OBVIOUS way it should be done.)”
Let’s call this Response 1 – the default mode many of us go into, certain we are right, trying to control reality, attempting to change or manage others.
As you can probably predict, operating this way hasn’t gone that well. I cannot turn back time. And my parents are not going to do aging, eldercare, or healthcare in the precise way I think they should.
And so, instead, I have been finding my way to Response 2.
In Response 2, I recognize they are different people than me and there is no earthly reason we should or would have the same ideas, preferences, or perspective on how to handle this time of life.
In Response 2, I remember that I myself have never been an elder before, with the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual realities that stage brings. I have no idea what it feels like to be in their experience right now.
Response 2 has me remembering, far more often, to ask a simple question: If I let this person really be who they are, if I don’t try to change, fix, or manage them, then….how can I actually be of service to them?
To ask that question… well, I need to get quiet… like heartfelt prayer and meditation mode quiet, like simmering on a long drive quiet, like soft sky nature walk quiet.
Then I have to feel my way to the answers.
How can I actually be of service right now? I’ll tell you, every time I actually quiet down and ask the question, it feels like the contours of what I thought my role should be shrink back to right-size. I can almost feel them go vvvvmmmmooooph and zip back into the size of my body.
How can I actually be of service right now? The details of the answer vary depending on what’s happening at the time, but I have noticed one striking pattern.
The answer is never, Cure them! Remove aging and infirmity from the cosmos with your powerful determination and will! Nor is it, Come up with a whole new plan for their lives! Or Argue your point of view furiously! Or Run around stressed and frustrated!
The answer is usually a simple, concrete act of service for that day or week.
That brings me to the holy pink water bottle.
This summer, my dad had a flare up of one of his health conditions, and he was dangerously ill. There was so much I couldn’t control about it. Plus, naturally, there were things about the way to deal with the illness and symptoms that we didn’t agree upon.
It was a very good time for the question: If I let this person really be who they are, if I don’t try to change, fix, or manage them, then….how can I actually be of service to them?
With his particular condition, dehydration could push him into severe symptoms – and already had, in the past.
I could get exasperated every time he wasn’t drinking water and make the reminder more vehement.
I could panic when I felt like he wasn’t remembering.
Or… I could get him a great water bottle.
Humble. Specific. Hopeful too.
I found a contender. It had a quality, durable straw. It was light and comfortable to hold. It was absurd to look at – bright colors and a cartoon character – so at odds with the gravity of the situation, so at odds with the gravity of the problem it was there to solve, and so different from the feeling of the hospital rooms he’d been spending so much time in.
I gave it to him. It was greeted with skepticism but openness.
A few days later he let me know with a smile, “I really like the water bottle.” And even better, “It’s really easy to hold and I’m drinking a lot more with it.”
Several months later, it indeed has made a difference in how much water he drinks. He takes it around the house everywhere with him. Dehydration has been kept at bay.
The water bottle is an emblem for me now, of our holy, humble acts of care. It’s an emblem for what this phase of my life is all about. When I think of this time when so much with people I love is out of my control, I think of the water bottle. Its concreteness. Its silliness. Its power and impact. Its smallness and its bigness.
We can ask the question in all kinds of situations:
My teenager is struggling with cliques. If I’m not trying to fix, change, manage, or control them, what can I do that actually would be of service?
My spouse is back in depression. If I’m not trying to fix, change, manage, or control them, what can I do that would actually be of service?
Our local community is divided in a major conflict. If I’m not trying to fix, change, manage, or control them, what can I do that would actually be of service?
I recently shared here my thoughts about the narrow places and the expanse. Many of you responded to share how caregiving relationships often take you into the narrow places.
This question is one way out.
Tara
