I haven't written much on this blog in the past months for a reason.
My husband and I have just buried his much older brother after a painful summer when he went into the hospital, then into hospice. We had spent the past three years as designated caregivers for him and, through him, his wife, who descended into ever deeper dementia over that time. His own illness was rather sudden and quickly became critical. When he died he had just turned 89; his wife, who is now confined to bed and no longer speaks, just turned 88.
Twelve years ago we became caregivers for my mother, who came to live with us during the last 18 months of her life as her dementia became more pronounced. It was hard to see her age in that way: sometimes knowing who we were, sometimes not. We sat by her bed in the same hospice when she died, my husband by my side as I was by his in our caregiving and death watch.
I want to talk about this because so many people our age whom I tell about our experiences have their own parallel experiences to share. Sometimes we're called the Sandwich Generation because we find ourselves caring for parents who are living far beyond the ages our grandparents lived while we're also worrying about--sometimes even giving shelter and financial help to--our grown children and their children. And then there's the added possibility that we are caregivers for a spouse or partner whose loss through dementia or death radically changes our own lives.
