“There are only four kinds of people in the world – Those who have been caregivers, those who currently are caregivers, those who will be caregivers, and those who will need caregivers.” – Rosalynn Carter
Sobering thought, isn’t it?
When my son was little, I squeezed copious items from my To-Do List into 24 hours before toppling, exhausted, into bed at night. I didn’t think Life could get more hectic.
Was I ever wrong — raising Domer was a breeze compared to caring for his grandmother!
In the natural order of things, a parent cares for children when they can’t yet care for themselves.
Feeds and dresses them. Teaches them to read and reason. Serves as taxi driver, short order cook, housekeeping staff, entertainment committee, and kisser of boo-boos.
But what happens when the roles are reversed and the ‘child’ must care for the parent?
In honor of it being Throwback Thursday, here’s a photo of Little Domer.
Following in both his parents’ footsteps, he took piano lessons as a kid. For a while, he was okay with it, but as he grew older, he balked more often.
And refused to practice.
But music is a huge part of him, and now he plays often — stuff he enjoys. As Victor Hugo wrote, “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”
Little Domer after one of his piano recitals.
A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen. — Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto
I just returned from a wonderful week’s visit with my son in The Land of the North.
Domer is fine, thanks for asking, and I expect he’ll be doing even better now that I’ve Pine-Solved a little problem for him.
Remember my post last year when I helped Domer rid his front door of a bird’s nest?
Well, guess what? It’s nesting season.
Again.
And poor Domer is fighting the swooping birds in the Land of the North.
All by himself.
He’s not happy about it.
Last year at this time, My Favorite Domer was walking across the stage to accept his university diploma.
I was fretting over everything from the weather (which I couldn’t control) to what to wear (which I could). And somehow, the things I worried about faded into the background, Domer graduated, and flew far from my nest, off to the Land-of-the-North.
Where he’s thrived.
It just dawned on me that at this time last year, I was stressing over what to wear to my son’s college graduation.
And now that it’s over, I can share what I learned so others won’t bog down the same way.
Thus, my Top Ten Suggestions for surviving your son/daughter’s graduation:
Some of our greatest treasures we place in museums; others we take for walks. — APlaceToLoveDogs
Dallas here.
Mama is working on her novel, so she gave me permission to commandeer her blog again.
Permission — hah!
I never saw myself in the role of caregiver.
Never trained as a nurse. Never watched my parents care for their parents.
And if I’m to be truly honest, I don’t have a caregiver’s personality. I’m more selfish than that. And, as a creative person, I protect my psyche and guard my time with a certain fierceness.
One nice thing about having another place to call “home” is the certainty of finding a treasure you’d forgotten you had.
Such is often the case when we travel to South Mississippi.
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 