Redheaded Jill

On July 4, 2017 I moved into my Grandparents’ house. (They lived across the street from my parents.) I was almost 27 years old. Grandpa was sick with terminal lung cancer and his biggest worry was what would happen to Grandma. She was immobile and in poor health.

Winter Break 2011.

I had just come home from a failed grad school adventure and was lost, without purpose. Caring for Grandma became my purpose. I volunteered to move in with her and be her companion. (Essentially Jo from Little Women for her Aunt March… Only Grandma was way nicer than Aunt March.)

I was one of Grandma’s main caretakers for five years. A lot of things happened during those years. Some good. Some bad.

• I learned about setting boundaries. I couldn’t handle a lot of the things Grandma needed help with that involved the bathroom. My mom and Aunt did 99.99% of that. And even though I got a little dramatic about it I put my foot down.
• I started going to therapy. My parents insisted I was depressed. (A combination of life + age + Grandpa’s passing.) I now see my therapist (whom I lovingly refer to as “My Shrink”) regularly.
• I quit all medications I was taking. No more birth control. (I took it for hormonal reasons.) And no more anti-anxiety medication. I don’t begrudge anyone the medicine they need to take. But I didn’t want medication. I wanted to stop. So I did. (With support from my shrink.)
• I became even more introverted. I have always been quiet/shy when I first meet people. It got worse. I was so isolated for so much of the time, especially when I was working from home full time. It’s almost like I gave up on the concept of friends because of a few bad experiences, and only spent time with my Grandma and immediate family.
• I became resentful of Grandma. This thing that I volunteered to do was harder than I thought. I had never felt the brunt of my Grandma’s bad moods, or hurtful words. She had a way of being very critical, and I spent my life defending her. “She’s old, she’s paid her dues, let her say what she wants.” My Grandma was very depressed, and sometimes her words cut deep. Her world was limited to Church and doctor visits, and even those disappeared during Rona. She was completely housebound the last 18 months of her life.
• I became resentful of my family. I was mean. Downright mean. I was mad when relatives wouldn’t do what I wanted them to. I was mad when I wasn’t recognized for helping Grandma, and then mad when they did offer me recognition. I wanted help, but didn’t want to have to ask for help. There was no right answer.
• I was stressed. When family would come to visit it felt like my home was being invaded because I could never have a say in who came or when. (Perfectly logical considering it was Grandma’s house and family coming to visit.) But it stressed me to no end. I started hiding from company, and it was beyond introversion. I was tempted to sneak out of windows to avoid small talk.
• I realized the importance of health, both physical and mental. I decided I wanted to be healthy because I didn’t want to be immobile at 86. I didn’t want to be taking 20 different medications every single day of my life. I started learning about holistic health and getting interested in “cleaner” food.
• I became a baker and had a booth at a local farmers market for a couple of years.
• I quit my job at the bank and became an ESL teacher. I taught kids in China English from 4-8 AM every day. (And then lost that job during Rona.)
• I gained new appreciation for my parents and especially my mom. She always defended me and offered me support, she made sure I had breaks and never made me feel bad about it.
• I gained a new appreciation for my family’s generosity. Maybe it’s because we’re a Christian family, but there was no fighting about possessions or property. Nobody hesitated to give money for Grandma’s care. One Uncle in particular took care of so many things for Grandma, like a new bed that would raise up like a hospital bed, or insurance because she no longer had Grandpa’s pension and healthcare. My Aunt moved in with us for the last few months of both Grandma and Grandpa’s lives to care for them while on hospice.

When Grandma passed away I was devastated. I had been sad to lose Grandpa, but I still had Grandma to care for so there was still a connection to him. When Grandma passed I grieved like the world was ending. I cried ALL the time. This went on for months. I had brain fog like nobody’s business! I locked my keys in my car 6 times in a 2 week span. I was hammered with guilt. Guilt because I wasn’t nicer and more patient with Grandma. Guilt because I’d been so nasty to my extended family members. Guilt because I felt some relief to not be a caretaker anymore. Guilt because I volunteered to care for Grandma and my attitude was abhorrent. Guilt because I continued to live in her house and I didn’t feel like I deserved it. Guilt for any and everything.

Would I do it again? Yes. I would change my attitude of course, and I’d try to ask for help sooner than I did, but given the chance I would go back and make the same decision to move in with Grandma and be her companion. I love her so much and I’m comforted by the thought that someday I’ll see her again, in Heaven, with a body no longer twisted and broken from age. There will be no more sickness. No more guilt. No more depression or stress. It will be a glorious reunion and I look forward to it.