Sandwiched - Caretaking Older and Younger Generations

When I think of a sandwich, I prefer to think about those gorgeous, generous ones at my favorite sandwich place, Kenny & Ziggy's.

But after hosting my parents recently, I thought of the term in a whole new way. It is after these visits that I feel terribly guilty that I moved far away from them and wonder what will happen if I am required to care for them at some point. (They have steadfastly declined to move here.)

I am still very tied to Houston and Texas due to my own children and many other obligations here.
People in the mid life years like me who are caught in between caring for the younger and older generations are referred to as the "sandwich generation."

My parents still live in my birth city 1300 miles away. They are 82 years old and in pretty good health and can still get around fairly well, despite having no children to look after them where they live. As described in a past blog, they live in a house mired in the 1970's, and on their own.

The signs are there, though, that this might not be the case in the near future. Both have aging brain issues; my mother has major short term memory loss and my dad is tuned out most of the time.(The kind where you worry about them turning on a burner and forgetting about it and burning the whole house down.)

I could write paragraph upon paragraph of their exaggerated quirks with aging. It is annoying to deal with when they are around, and then hilarious to recap. Yes, they will definitely appear as characters in my novel.

For example, my mother relies on my father for her short term memory. This includes making him the safekeeper of two items she must have at all times - her cane, and her rain bonnet. If the wind blows, she summons the rain bonnet, because she will not use hair spray or other chemicals to keep her hair in place and if there is even a wisp of a breeze, she summons my father, "Milt, where's my rain bonnet?" Not only does she summon my dad to produce the bonnet, she starts fretting he has lost it if he doesn't produce it in a nano-second. After witnessing this same scene approximately 80 times over the course of a few days, my husband Gary gave her a suggestion. "Marion, why don't you hold your own bonnet? That way you will have it whenever you need it."

This of course, was too logical. When she protested that she "doesn't have room for it," Gary showed her the 80's era multi-colored jogging jacket she carries with her at all times because she freezes in indoor air-conditioning. "This has two pockets that are empty - keep your bonnet in one of those and you will always know where it is and always have it available." (she also carries a half empty purse.)

But I digress: the above is just one reason why I am glad the miles separate us. All logical suggestions to make life easier, more pleasant, and more in the realm of the 21st century are ignored, met with disdain, or argued. Stubborn is too gentle a word to describe people who are mired in a time warp of thirty years ago when they were young and mentally sharper. Cemented and unyielding might work better.

This may change sometime soon and that is where the worry comes in. What happens when they can't care for themselves? What happens in a health crisis? I am here and they are there. I have jobs, family, obligations keeping me here and they stubbornly stay stuck and alone there.

I know other people in the sandwich generation have it much tougher - those who have parents who live closeby and have every day needs; some battling diseases such as Alzheimer's and juggling young children's schedules around amidst the whirlwind of youth activities.

In comparison, I have had it very easy all these years, worrying by phone and the occasional visit. To use a sandwich metaphor, I am merely a PB&J on white bread compared to some of you who are those piled high huge corned beef sandwiches, or sub sandwiches.

Let me hear how you handle it all.