The election is behind us, and people will spend weeks debating what the results mean. Caregivers, meanwhile, are still keeping track of medications, helping someone get dressed, and lying awake at night with their thoughts.
November is National Family Caregivers Month. With the holidays coming, the demands can keep building, even when a caregiver is already running on empty.
If you’re frazzled, stressed, heartbroken, or just plain tired, you’re in the right place.
You can have people who love you all around and still feel alone. I often remind pastors that someone can feel lonely even while sitting in a crowded church pew.
Caregivers know how easily their own lives can fade into someone else’s. People ask about the person you’re caring for, and you explain the latest procedure or what the doctor said. Before long, the conversation is all about them—and what you’re dealing with slips out of view.
When I began writing about caregiving, I hoped readers might find a little breathing room, and something steady to hold on to. I keep thinking about the caregiver who wonders if anyone really understands.
That’s part of why I started a caregiver group at our church in Montana.
We meet around a table every Thursday morning. Newcomers sometimes arrive nervous, and sometimes in tears. It takes courage to walk into a room of strangers and talk about caring for someone you love.
The church makes sure we have tissues. The pastor or his assistant sometimes puts on a pot of coffee. If they’re not around, I take over.
I’m used to making coffee for Gracie. She likes it strong enough to practically slap you. Most people in the group have learned to turn down a cup when I’m the one brewing it.
One man brought a tin of Costco cookies, and we’ve made quite a dent in it. Actually, I’ve made quite a dent. I keep passing the tin around, but somehow it ends up back in front of me. I should watch myself, or the bears around here may start hiding their food from me.
We take turns checking in. Some weeks, things are hard, and the tissues travel around the table along with the cookies. Other times, we talk about everyday life. Somehow, even with the tears, there’s laughter at every meeting.
We all speak caregiver. No one has to explain at length why they’re exhausted or scared, or why making one more decision feels impossible. We know that language because we live it.
This week, a man whose wife has dementia told us that he can’t have a rational conversation with her anymore. He said our group was the first place in a long time where he felt truly heard.
How many other caregivers are carrying that same feeling?
Sometimes, speaking caregiver means saying, “Come sit down. Have a cookie—or three. And maybe sign this waiver before you try the coffee.”
I can’t send readers a tin of cookies or a cup of terrible coffee. You’ll have to find your own tissues. And if you run out, toilet paper works. Most of us have resorted to it at some point.
What I can offer is four decades of caring for someone I love. I can be honest about the exhaustion, the fear, the resentment we may not want to admit, and the laughter that still catches us off guard.
I can also share something I have to remind myself of, too: You don’t have to feel better in order to make a good choice.
Making your own doctor’s appointment, accepting help, or spending time with people who understand may be the right thing to do, even if you still feel worn out afterward.
If you’re trying to find the right words for a caregiver, you might say: “I see you. I see how much you’re carrying, and I hurt with you.”
If they start to cry, you don’t need to come up with something profound. Just stay and listen.
If you’re frazzled, stressed, heartbroken, or weary, you’re in the right place. Tell me how you’re doing in the comments. I try to read them all and respond when I can.
And if none of those words describe you right now, you’re still welcome here. When you love someone, there’s a good chance you’ll become a caregiver at some point.
Live long enough, and you may need one yourself.
Friends shouldn’t have to caregive alone.
