After
This weekend I'm decommissioning my caregiver role - officially. This is not an easy task for me. Caregiving was a primal response to my mother's Alzheimer's Disease, a backwards parenting. She was unlearning, more like dis-learning and I had to protect her, from the outside world and herself.
She lived alone for most of her illness, in our family house, and she was hell on wheels with a phone, a car, a checkbook, debit card and credit cards. I told my sister it was like looking after a toddler running around naked with a tiki torch. That was until we put some stops in place, but still...
When we moved her to a demential care facility I inherited all her paperwork, bank statements, investment statements, insurances of every kind; every piece of paper that comes with being an adult and a parent. "Just think about that!" as my sister would say at age six or so to my dad. My husband and I live in an apartment, so "The Mom Paperwork" as it's come to be known, takes up a good sized chunk of real estate. He's never complained about it or nagged me to throw it out. We joke about it.
Now that she's gone, much of it can go. So I'm having a shredding party for one. My husband is out this weekend attending a class. I have adult beverages and a shredder; time to let the disease go. The disease that stole her once impeccable judgment about finances gets shredded with the wonky bank statements.
The best and only thing that remains from this disease is LOVE.
Love you always Maudie,
Voyageur
She lived alone for most of her illness, in our family house, and she was hell on wheels with a phone, a car, a checkbook, debit card and credit cards. I told my sister it was like looking after a toddler running around naked with a tiki torch. That was until we put some stops in place, but still...
When we moved her to a demential care facility I inherited all her paperwork, bank statements, investment statements, insurances of every kind; every piece of paper that comes with being an adult and a parent. "Just think about that!" as my sister would say at age six or so to my dad. My husband and I live in an apartment, so "The Mom Paperwork" as it's come to be known, takes up a good sized chunk of real estate. He's never complained about it or nagged me to throw it out. We joke about it.
Now that she's gone, much of it can go. So I'm having a shredding party for one. My husband is out this weekend attending a class. I have adult beverages and a shredder; time to let the disease go. The disease that stole her once impeccable judgment about finances gets shredded with the wonky bank statements.
The best and only thing that remains from this disease is LOVE.
Love you always Maudie,
Voyageur