Silver Sage Sisters

During my caregiving years, people consistently reminded me to take care of myself – to give myself a break. While I knew my friends and family meant well by nudging me, I felt relatively certain they had no idea what my “taking a break” entailed. Much preparation goes into leaving for a few days. You are not just packing for yourself.

I created a “Caring for Mom” notebook with tabs for each category of information one would need to stay with my mother in my home. Once the notebook was complete, I could update it easily when something changed. Using a three-ring binder and creating the documents in Microsoft Word and Excel made updating information easy.

Sections included the “legal” documents which included her DNR, Advanced Directive, Power of Attorney, and Last Will and Testament; General Notes; Exercises; Daily/Weekly Checklists; and Medical. The tabbed sections were behind the page full of emergency and non-emergency phone numbers.

Another tool I used to help others help me was my trusty little label maker.  I labeled pantry shelves, kitchen drawers, tableware, and mom’s supplies. I even put labels on the knife blocks to remind helpers to hand wash the knives! I have to chuckle. My kitchen, bathrooms, laundry room, and mom’s bedroom and sitting room all reminded me of a church kitchen where everything is neatly identified.

Several meals and meal kits were prepared; the freezer and pantry stocked with carefully packed and labeled foods. Instructions for using the Keurig were taped to the beverage bar. Although mom was not a huge fan of “take out” there were a few restaurants she enjoyed. My computer browser stored the passwords and credit card for those, along with Shipt and Instacart access, so the helper could easily place an order for delivery.

I worked with health care providers to ensure there were enough medications to last through a few days after my return. Pill planners were filled for the entire time I was away. Extra supplies of disposable underwear, toilet paper, paper towels, disinfectant wipes, etc. were stocked.

Mom’s clothes were washed, ironed (where necessary), and hung by “outfits” in her closet. Instructions for washing sheets and clothes were taped to the inside cabinet door above the washer. How to set the dryer was also posted.

Much as packing diapers and formula and several changes of clothes are packed for a small child, every detail had to be covered. Even though I believed I had left nothing wanting, I would still receive daily calls – sometimes multiple calls in a day – asking where something was or what to do about “x”.  Getting away was physical but not disconnected. (What did we do before mobile phones?!)

Prepping for a “vacation” when caregiving reminded me of preparing to be away from my full-time job. It took a week or two to prepare to be gone. Upon return, it took a week or two to catch up. Sometimes I wondered if the time off was worth the effort. Of course, having a break is necessary for rejuvenation and mental health.

Should you find yourself in a caregiving mode I hope my experience will help guide you in preparing to give yourself a break. Even if you do not have the responsibility of another person, some of these tips may be helpful to others who at some point may come take care of you.

Mary Ann

When our parents build our childhood home, they purchased a lot that had a small creek along the one boundary.  It was about two feet wide and six to twelve inches deep as it meandered towards the Susquehanna River.  

The property had an interesting history before we claimed it as our home.  Early in its history, an Indian tribe had a village there.  We would find arrowheads and other artifacts when we were tilling the ground to plant.  In the early part of the 20th century, the property was an ostrich farm – the feathers were used for ladies’ hats of the time.  Mid-century, the land was used as a nursery. The creek remained central in all chapters of the land, and it was for our family as well.

When my brother, Timmy, and I were young, we were constantly in the creek.  We would build dams; catch crawfish, baby fish, or frogs; and one year, we discovered freshwater muscles.   The muscle shells had mother-of-pearl interiors.  We were sure we could make jewelry out of the shell and become rich. Childhood dreams!

Alongside the creek, we would build barns for imaginary horses and jumps for them to leap.  It was endless days of summer fun.  In any season, we were playing in or by the creek.  On snowy days, we would cross a wooden plank that bridged the creek allowing us to get to the ice-skating ponds.  Often, we would slip and fall in the creek’s really cold water.   Our mother was always thawing us out as we dressed again to go outside and do it all over again.  

 One summer, the creek dried up, and all the baby fish were in small puddles thrashing around to stay alive.  I caught a snake having dinner on the trapped fish.  I went for a shovel to end it days, and it was gone by the time I returned.  I had to save the fish so the snakes would not eat them all.  I got a bucket and filled it with water and put the baby fish in it.  I had to carry the fish to a big pond about two or three football fields away from our house.    I remember that the walk to the pond was so hard because the bucket was heavy with water and my hand hurt as the handle dug into my palms.  I had to stop often to rest.  Then fight the weeds to get to the pond.  When I got there, it was such relief to dump the bucket into the water and save the fish.  I made about three or four trips that day saving those babies.

We saw the water snakes as the enemy of the creek. This was before we understood the balance of nature. Eating the baby fish was just doing a snake’s job.  However, I would don my father’s waiters and grab a shovel.  Then it was off with their heads.  We cleared the snakes from the creek. I cannot believe I did that.  I have had several snake encounters over the years – another blog one day.  I keep thinking that it is all karma for me taking their lives, and it should equal out soon – I hope.

As we grew, the creek became less important, but an event happened that changed it all for my family.  There was a big oak tree that grew at the corner of our property near the creek, and by the tree there was a big metal tube that was used as a bridge for the farmer to traverse to plow the fields behind our house.  Stones surrounded the tube keeping it in place.  The tree had a Tarzan rope swing that we would play on.  All fun!  However, my brother, would climb the tree and throw his coat down and then lie at the bottom of the tree and say help me, I fell.  He thought it was so funny.  Timmy was a tease. 

Then, one day as I was feeding our dogs at the coop – the dog kennel – near the creek, I looked up and down came Timmy’s gold hooded jacket trimmed in fake black fur, and this time, he was in it.  He fell about 15 feet, hit the metal tube, and bounced on the stones into the creek.  My mother was watching from the kitchen window and flew out of the house to get Timmy.  She got him out of the creek.  He was unconscious.  She rushed to the car with a neighbor to take him to the emergency room.  I stood there in the swirl that was happening.  Off they went, and I was scared wondering about Timmy. 

Hours later my mother returned.  My father was with her.  I overheard words like fractured skull, concussion, and maybe he could die.  With the morning, Timmy gained consciousness and escaped the worst possibilities.  He did have a bad concussion.  He would have to be careful about any future head injury because it could be fatal for him.   I think his thick winter coat saved the worst of the fall.  The creek was not the same after that.  Some of it was our age, and some of it was the memory of the fall.

In years to come, my own children played in the creek when they came home to visit their grandparents in the summers.  It held the same magic for them.  Then years after that the creek became Terry’s Creek named after a neighbor’s child.  He, too, was in the creek all the time as we were as children.  It is a wonderful playground for children allowing their imaginations to grow, and each new generation of children claimed it as their own.

When my parents downsized and sold the family home, I went to take pictures of the house and of course, the creek. I collect stones from the creek for my parents, my brother, my children, and me.  I made them each a photo album to remember our family time there and a stone to remember the creek.  It was a nice closure to many years of memories.  Now, I do believe the creek actually runs through our hearts and souls and is a part of who we are.  Did you have a creek or a pond in your youth that still flows through you?