There has never been a more difficult task than taking on the responsibility of caring for my parents. Old people used to scare me. Perhaps it was the pending finality of their lives that made me uncomfortable. I don't know. But I felt certain that I would never be the one to care for my parents as they aged.
Watching the deterioration in their physical abilities and mental capacity is tempered only by the gift of time with them that I have been given. I lived with them for a short time in my 30s and I joked about having them as roommates. This time around is very different. I have a home that I do not live in because I am with them. My space is one bedroom in the front of their house and my privacy is nearly non-existent. While I do miss my freedom at times and I wish we were in the financial position to get them the care they deserve, I do not resent my current situation.
The stories my mom tells these days are priceless. And my dad has been sharing a lot lately that I had never heard before now. I record them sometimes so I can go back and watch again later. They are sincerely thankful for the things I do for them and can hardly stop thanking me. But it all balances out because I am enjoying it all.
Financially, it is a struggle. Living in one home and maintaining another is taking it's toll. Bills. Groceries. Cars. Managing schedules and meals and getting the 306 loads of laundry done that it seems like we have every week is not easy. I don't sleep much. I don't eat much either but I am still fat. I am concerned about my own health. I worry what might happen to them if I don't get this almost diabetes under control.
Nobody tells you that one day your parents will stop raising you and it will be your turn to take them by the hands and lead them. It is a bittersweet reality. It is a task with an undefined deadline whose end I do not relish. I'd gladly do the job of raising my parents forever, if needed.
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