Care Worker Story Series: A Daughter Caring for her Parents

As an only child I spent much of my growing up years with adults.  I enjoyed their company and encouragement.  So it was natural that when my father was diagnosed with dementia, possibly Alzheimer’s, I knew it my responsibility was to assist my mother in his care at home.  It wasn’t requested by either of my parents.  This was what I wanted to do.  I was less sure of my ability to do it.

Two weeks before my father’s diagnosis by a neurologist in Minneapolis, my husband and I had moved into our home in the Twin City area – two and a half hours from my parent’s home in Pennock.  The doctor told my dad to continue doing the activities he enjoyed but to avoid starting anything new. It was fall of 1987. At this time I was employed part time.  Not knowing what would happen next, I decided to resign my position.  I knew I needed to be available on short notice to aid my mother.

The next years were filled with many large and small emergencies, including hospitalization, and a brief stay in a nursing home. My husband and I drove to my parent’s home with ever increasing frequency. Mother was a very capable caregiver, but twenty-four hour care giving takes its toll.

In time, my mother was provided a caregiver by her county to assist my Dad in his personal care, such bathing and shampooing. The community church, relatives, and neighbors also began helping. Two gentlemen from the church visited every Monday for morning coffee and they delivered the cassette tape of the Sunday service.  The pastor visited them regularly. Relatives came with food and conversation. Neighbors dropped by for a brief visit. This community caregiving is what enabled my mother to care for my dad. My mother feel supported instead of isolated.

I took the role of evening caregiver since it was the time that most people weren’t able to come help.  I’d drive out alone and stay so mother could get some rest.  I learned how my mother cared for my father, and I worked hard to care for him in a similar fashion.  Though my father would often still ask for her if he couldn’t see her. I had to assist Dad getting into bed, even when he could get up faster than I could walk down the hall!  One night I counted how many times I helped him back to bed, twenty three.

On harder weeks, I’d come over for several days to help my parents. I would get the mail, pay the bills, do the laundry, go grocery shopping, schedule appointments, take them for a ride, clean the house, cook, make the bed, and find the Haug Implement hat Dad loved to wear (even in bed). Then came the days where I had to start feeding my dad when he wasn’t able to hold a spoon anymore.  Between 1990 and 1991, my husband and I were at my parents’ home in Pennock 90 days per year.

In January 1992, my mother had hip replacement surgery in Willmar.  Dad and I came every day to see her in the hospital. It was hard. It wasn’t uncommon for a tears flow down dad’s cheeks as we sat next to my mother. Thankfully, the surgeon knew of the household situation and made the arrangements for my mother to be able to go get therapy in her own home. I stayed with my parents during this time. I think mother was able to recover more quickly because she was in her own home surrounded by the people she loves.

As tough of a choice as it was, in early May of that same year mother let me know she thought dad would be better cared for in a nursing home. So in the the three of us visited a Nursing Home in Willmar and at the end of the month Dad moved into a nursing home.

The day my father was going to move into the nursing home, one of his brothers and wife came to visit. That meant so much to all of us.  As I drove my dad to the nursing home I tried to find the words to say to my Dad.  I told him I loved both of them, but I was going to have to get back to my home. I slipped out of the driver’s seat and around the back of the car to help my mother out of the car. Then I opened the door for Dad.  He got out, took my arm, and we walked quietly to the door behind mother. Nothing but dignity and respect.

My father died peacefully in Sept. 1993 at the nursing home with my mother and two of my Dad’s sister by his side.  The week before his death my husband and I were in Wilmar for a gathering. We visited my parents every single day we were there. Looking back, I’m so happy we all had the opportunity to spend that time together.