On sharing hard stories
It's a bit like making cookies
<Welcome to Sandwich Season, adventures in middle age, sandwiched between aging parents and growing children ... and other duties as assigned.>
Hello friends—
What am I doing? Why am I doing it?
These are questions I ask nearly every week as I sit down to write a post for Sandwich Season.
Some days, my mind answers, “airing my family’s dirty laundry” or “turning into a grief exhibitionist.”
On other days, my mind answers, “doing my best to share—and hear—what it is really like to journey with parents and children through transition times.”
I like the second type of days.
Yesterday, visiting with a friend who is going through her own set of transitions, I told her about an email I wrote earlier this week. A woman in charge of a Japanese festival in a nearby city had invited me to do an on-stage koto (Japanese zither) demonstration later this month. I had to tell her I just couldn’t.
Here’s part of the email:
I apologize for not getting back to you sooner (again). Life continues to be pretty full, and I have YET to touch my koto.
I didn't mean to be so cryptic before, so here's the nutshell:
Toward the end of 2022 my mom was really struggling with dementia, so I convinced my parents to move into a retirement home last March [2023]. That spring my mom went on hospice care and then passed in August. Meanwhile, I discovered a mold infestation in their (very full) home of 30 years, so spent much of last year clearing it out and overseeing tearout of much of the basement and subsequent renovations. We were just about to put their house on the market, when it occurred to my husband and then me that we should buy their house. So we finished renovations/cleanup, prepped our own house for sale, moved into their house and sold ours. Then, my son was invited to move into a group home, so we got him set up with that ... And among all of these things my dad had a stroke and then a TIA and then covid ... The number of life events we've experienced has been pretty absurd, but most of us are still vertical, and I think I might be starting to re-emerge into regular life.
After I sent it, I thought, yikes! Because those were just the bare bones of what has been happening—so many other major things have been going on at the same time.
As I told my friend yesterday, honestly, I don’t know how I’ve gotten through all of this. (And yes, for anyone keeping score, I did explore this topic a few weeks ago in “What gets us through.” Even so, I remain baffled.)
She suggested that my yoga teaching and practice, which includes prayer and meditation, have helped. I added that my running habit, a.k.a. “getting the ya-yas out,” has been key too.
But sitting down to draft today’s post, I felt yet again how helpful it has been to process—through writing—the many complex emotions that have been part of Sandwich Season.
Caring for the caregiver
A couple of weeks ago, in “You are not alone,” I shared some resources that have helped me over the past couple of years, including an online course and books focused on working with a family member with dementia.
One thing they taught me is how important it is to include care for the caregiver in any plan. (OK, “plan” makes it seem as if we have been organized. Truth is, if Sandwich Season were a tennis match, we have spent our days doing our best to return serves.)
My dad was my mom’s primary caregiver, and whenever I suggested they needed more help, his refrain tended to be “I can handle this.” It was a huge relief to me when in March 2023 they moved into the retirement community. Due to my mom’s needs, they were placed in an assisted living wing, which meant retirement community staff regularly showed up to help care for Mom. By extension, that meant they were also supporting Dad. In May, hospice staff joined the crew. More care for the caregiver.
Over that spring and summer, my job evolved into providing emotional support to the two of them while helping them move, set up services, clear out their house, run errands, stay with Mom so Dad could take a break and so on.
In my own home, I was keeping our son, Max, engaged with school and then summer programs, and coordinating services related to his special needs.
If you’re wondering where my husband, Jon, was in all of this, summer is “go time” in his work world. He is a great support and has been involved in a lot of what I’m describing, but we have needed to keep his focus on being as present as possible at work. After all, what he does there makes it possible for me to stay focused on the other things.
Still, last summer, as I felt the screws tightening with everyone’s needs, I figured it would be smart to seek out a therapist for myself. Someone who would listen to me air my laundry list of happenings, worries and grievances.
For the record, I still think this was a very good idea.
However, the coordination required to get to those appointments in the midst of everything I was juggling, including Max’s refusal at the time to go along with much of anything I asked, turned therapy into Just One More Thing. Therapy could easily have become the straw that broke this camel’s back.
So, after two sessions, I quit.
Writing as self-care
Instead, I journaled and took notes about my experiences on the fly. And in October, for reasons I no longer recall, I committed to writing an almost weekly post about this time of life. This is post No. 34.
To put it simply, writing has helped me gather up the feelings that roil in my heart and in my gut—the positive, the negative and everything in between, and process them through my mind into something I can understand … something I can live with … something I can share.
With apologies to the vegetarians, I can’t help but think it’s been a bit like making sausage. Or maybe spritz cookies … or macarons … something that takes multiple ingredients and, with the pressure of a press or a piping kit, turns into something presentable. Let’s go with the cookies.
Anyway, challenging myself to make sense of feelings and experiences and put them into a form where I can share them has been healing. And then having people write back to share their own stories and even words of encouragement … is there any better way to walk through a hard time?
I feel so much gratitude to each of you for taking the time to read and sometimes respond, for creating a sense of empathy.
And with that—ta-dah!—I’ve arrived at the beginning of what I had actually planned to share today. Now it will have to wait.
Please tune in next week for a post focused on storytelling, empathy and music—related to my earliest memory, starring my Dad!
For now, I will leave you with this quick, 3-minute video on empathy, voiced by researcher and author Brené Brown.
As far as I can tell, you’re all bears. ♡
Take good care,
Sarah
I'm grateful for your wrting and it never seems grief-exhibitionist to me (although I wonder the same about mine! 🤣) It is a deep portrait of what it is like to journey with you in this season. And expands my empathy by reading ALL that you're going through! 🐻
rrr... hear me growl. good video and great writing, once again- love the connection. hugs