The term “sandwich generation” is relatively new. It identifies those of us who are caring for our parents in their old age at the same time as we raise our own children. Sandwiched between the two generations, we are responsible for the care and supervision of both. It’s quickly become a common situation as medical advances grant us longer life spans and later childbirth options.
I had my two sons when I was 29 and 31, so slightly late on the average timeline. My daughter came along 10 years later, when I was 41 years old. So while my sons are entering young adulthood, my daughter is still in primary school and needs full time care. My parents are in their upper 80s now. My dad has Alzheimer’s Disease and my mom has mild dementia, and so they also need full time assistance.
Nearly 3 years ago I made the decision to physically separate from my American fiancée and her adopted kids (currently ages 21, 8, and 6) so that my daughter and I could move in with my parents to monitor their health and safety. I didn’t really think about how long a situation this might be. Certainly, I didn’t factor in a global pandemic that would close the border between our countries and make the mere 5 hour distance between us completely uncross-able. I also didn’t consider the challenges that come with living in my parents’ house which they very clearly think of as THEIR house, and me as merely a guest.
This doesn’t feel amazing.
People often tell me that I’m doing a wonderful thing, caring for my parents in their old age so that they can continue living at home. They say how lucky they are to have me. They tell me that I’m amazing.
This doesn’t feel amazing.
My parents are in very good physical health, especially considering their age. They are both mobile and able to manage their day to day essential activities without assistance. This is both a blessing and a curse.
Since my dad is able to go to the bathroom when he’s told to take his pills, my mom assumes he is taking his pills. Every day, when I hand him his pills, she is shocked that he didn’t take them. She thinks he knows what he’s doing when he putters around in the laundry room or the back yard. Then she’s baffled when the cable goes out or a section of the house has no power, after he’s messed with the cables or breaker box. She will believe him when he tells her that he ate breakfast, even if I tell her that he didn’t. He will also happily eat breakfast 2 or 3 times, thinking each time that it’s his first meal. Left on their own, they don’t eat properly, rarely drink anything other than coffee, and encounter all sorts of unexplainable happenings with household appliances.
My parents’ mobility gives them a false sense of independent ability. Since they are “able” to do “all the things”, they feel like they are ABLE to do all the things. As far as they are concerned, though they are happy to have me here with them, they feel that I don’t need to be here with them. In their eyes, I am here because I don’t have my own home or a real job (online freelance work isn’t real to them). My role as caregiver remains my secret identity to them.
sandwich (noun) : two or more slices of bread or a split roll having a filling in between
Care-giving for my parents feels like having an entire loaf of hard, crusty, sometimes moldy bread, but it is only one slice of bread in my sandwich. My daughter is 8. I need to balance my focus between her and my parents. The further my parents slide down the slope of dementia, the more I become a parent to 3 children. My daughter is the easy one, but I have to be careful that I don’t take advantage of that and neglect her needs. My parent-children are like petulant teenagers who don’t want to be parented and think they are the most mature and sensible people in the house. Which of course, they used to be…
I spent a year and a half home-schooling my daughter during the pandemic due to our household situation. We couldn’t risk her picking up the potentially deadly virus and passing it on to my parents. I also had to avoid public interactions myself because if I went ‘down’ even for a few days, my parents and daughter would be without care or supervision.
My daughter is back to in-person learning now, but I’m not sure that makes my life easier. Now I have to worry about the time, prepare daily lunches, attend PAC meetings, walk her to and from school… I have gained a few hours of time during the day but lost the freedom to be flexible when dealing with the random needs of my mom’s errands.
Now I have to balance my daughter’s extracurricular activities with the anxiety I face leaving my parents alone at home. Added to the mess is my mother’s desire to do all her shopping and banking herself. I can’t convince her to transition to online banking so that she can do it from home. She doesn’t acknowledge my dad’s condition and won’t accept that us leaving him home alone is even worse than me leaving the two of them alone.
No safety net for caregivers
Perhaps the hardest part of living in the middle of two needy generations is the financial burden. I was a teacher. When my daughter was a baby I completed my MEd and taught at a college in the US. When I made the decision to move in with my parents, I turned down a very promising job interview for a position that would have been great for our family. Now, working outside the home is not an option. I can’t leave my parents for regular lengths of time, and I certainly can’t rely on them to act as responsible caregivers to my daughter after school.
Adult caregivers of adults/seniors have little to no support. Government services are provided for seniors who are unable to function on their own, but as soon as there is someone present to provide assistance, those services are no longer available. As my parents’ caregiver, I keep them out of the system, saving our government thousands of dollars every month. Still there is no compensation for my having to give up work to provide this level of care.
Ignorance isn’t bliss from the other side of the fence
It makes matters worse that my parents don’t believe that they require a caregiver. As quick as they are to expect to be driven to any and all appointments and errands, they are also quick to wonder why I don’t pursue gainful employment. The work I do is freelance graphic work and is sporadic at best, but even that is not seen as real work by my anti-technology parents.
To be clear, I am grateful that I do have a roof over my head and food to eat. My parents welcomed my daughter and I in with open arms, and provide for our most essential needs. They believe that we moved in with them as a result of a turn in our circumstances, not theirs. Our previous life with the other half of our family in the US is a distant thought to them. After all, if we were able to continue living there, wouldn’t we just go? Since we don’t leave, their conclusion is that we don’t have anywhere else to be.
Not a thankless job
Despite my gloomy rambling, this is not a thankless job. My parents very much appreciate everything I do for them. There are even some things that they acknowledge that they wouldn’t be able to do on their own any more. My friends are always encouraging and understanding of my struggles.
My daughter is enjoying a few years of invaluable time with her grandparents, and they with her. This is perhaps the greatest joy of the whole situation. They didn’t see much of my sons when they were young. I’m glad I can give them this gift now.
At the end of every day though, I am still here feeling trapped and unsupported. I am here out of love and respect for my parents. Some days I hope that is enough to get me through.