+ A
A -
PETER ROSENBERGER
While the public face of Thanksgiving projects a Norman Rockwell painting, stress and sadness better describe the holiday for many of America’s millions of family caregivers.
Numerous caregivers fear that this may be the last Thanksgiving with their loved ones. Others feel obligated to get it right and make sure all traditions are followed. Undergirding everything lies an ample supply of guilt over missteps and things undone.
Fear, obligation and guilt surround those caring for chronically impaired loved ones. Caregivers often find themselves careening into the darkness of isolation, resentment and despair. Yet, the way through for caregivers is the same when driving in a fog: slow down, use low-beam headlights and stay calm.
Although most caregivers daily live as high-functioning multitaskers, holidays often send us into warp speed.
The faster the pace, however, the worse the collision. Compounding the heartache, caregivers often envision the crash before it happens and choose to live in future wreckage.
Like an amputee with phantom pain from a limb no longer there, caregivers hurt in reverse from things yet to occur — or indeed may never happen. Slowing down allows us to live in the present, deal with the moment and respond without reacting.
Drivers using high-beam lights in a fog quickly find themselves blinded by the glare. Trying to peer too far ahead does the same for caregivers. With compromised vision and a treacherous road, the rule of thumb is to “go at the speed you’re comfortable slamming into the ditch at.” The hustle of shopping and attempting to fulfill every request made by a loved one leads caregivers to race recklessly until the inevitable wreck occurs.
Arriving tardy but safely always trumps sitting in the cab of a tow truck or the back of an ambulance. If the pace of the holiday causes us to plop down at the table with clenched fists, we missed the point.
Not only do millions of family caregivers daily face severe challenges, but they also struggle against lapsing into self-pity and anger. Although grievances usually overpower things that invite thankfulness, resentment cannot thrive in the presence of gratitude.
When dealing with impairments like Alzheimer’s, traumatic brain injuries, mental illness or addictions, countless caregivers push themselves to extremes to appease a disease. Words that erupt from an impaired mind can leave devastating wounds on those who serve. Feelings get hurt when disease-affected nostalgia collides with a caregiver’s fear and guilt. Regardless of what others demand, dressing can come from a box. Cranberry sauce out of a can is still tasty. Lumps in mashed potatoes are not cardinal sins.
Gratitude defines the Thanksgiving holiday — not the menu or the venue.
At this year’s table — whether in the dining room, a restaurant, diner, hospital, rehab center or hospice — grab the hand next to yours a bit tighter. If alone, clasp your own as you give thanks. Take an extra moment to identify one thing for which to be grateful. If it helps, use the alphabet, and find something that starts with “A.” Identify something or someone that begins with each successive letter and offer thanks. In only a matter of moments, watch how your demeanor changes, your stress level lowers, and your heart receives the air it so desperately needs.
Grief and gratitude are not mutually exclusive — and postponing either only diminishes one’s quality of life. While the heartache associated with caregiving seems to leave little room for feeling grateful, even dire circumstances cannot drive away all beauty or soul-stirring moments.
“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” — Marcus Cicero.
(Peter Rosenberger hosts the radio program “Hope for the Caregiver.” )
While the public face of Thanksgiving projects a Norman Rockwell painting, stress and sadness better describe the holiday for many of America’s millions of family caregivers.
Numerous caregivers fear that this may be the last Thanksgiving with their loved ones. Others feel obligated to get it right and make sure all traditions are followed. Undergirding everything lies an ample supply of guilt over missteps and things undone.
Fear, obligation and guilt surround those caring for chronically impaired loved ones. Caregivers often find themselves careening into the darkness of isolation, resentment and despair. Yet, the way through for caregivers is the same when driving in a fog: slow down, use low-beam headlights and stay calm.
Although most caregivers daily live as high-functioning multitaskers, holidays often send us into warp speed.
The faster the pace, however, the worse the collision. Compounding the heartache, caregivers often envision the crash before it happens and choose to live in future wreckage.
Like an amputee with phantom pain from a limb no longer there, caregivers hurt in reverse from things yet to occur — or indeed may never happen. Slowing down allows us to live in the present, deal with the moment and respond without reacting.
Drivers using high-beam lights in a fog quickly find themselves blinded by the glare. Trying to peer too far ahead does the same for caregivers. With compromised vision and a treacherous road, the rule of thumb is to “go at the speed you’re comfortable slamming into the ditch at.” The hustle of shopping and attempting to fulfill every request made by a loved one leads caregivers to race recklessly until the inevitable wreck occurs.
Arriving tardy but safely always trumps sitting in the cab of a tow truck or the back of an ambulance. If the pace of the holiday causes us to plop down at the table with clenched fists, we missed the point.
Not only do millions of family caregivers daily face severe challenges, but they also struggle against lapsing into self-pity and anger. Although grievances usually overpower things that invite thankfulness, resentment cannot thrive in the presence of gratitude.
When dealing with impairments like Alzheimer’s, traumatic brain injuries, mental illness or addictions, countless caregivers push themselves to extremes to appease a disease. Words that erupt from an impaired mind can leave devastating wounds on those who serve. Feelings get hurt when disease-affected nostalgia collides with a caregiver’s fear and guilt. Regardless of what others demand, dressing can come from a box. Cranberry sauce out of a can is still tasty. Lumps in mashed potatoes are not cardinal sins.
Gratitude defines the Thanksgiving holiday — not the menu or the venue.
At this year’s table — whether in the dining room, a restaurant, diner, hospital, rehab center or hospice — grab the hand next to yours a bit tighter. If alone, clasp your own as you give thanks. Take an extra moment to identify one thing for which to be grateful. If it helps, use the alphabet, and find something that starts with “A.” Identify something or someone that begins with each successive letter and offer thanks. In only a matter of moments, watch how your demeanor changes, your stress level lowers, and your heart receives the air it so desperately needs.
Grief and gratitude are not mutually exclusive — and postponing either only diminishes one’s quality of life. While the heartache associated with caregiving seems to leave little room for feeling grateful, even dire circumstances cannot drive away all beauty or soul-stirring moments.
“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” — Marcus Cicero.
(Peter Rosenberger hosts the radio program “Hope for the Caregiver.” )
