Me, my Mother, and the Pandemic Revisited

Today is National Caregivers Day in Canada. It is a day to pause and acknowledge the fundamentally important work being done by people, young, old and in-between, throughout this country and around the world. They are caring for spouses, parents, children, siblings and neighbours. They are doing their best, often while taking care of their own family and trying to earn a living, to provide various kinds of practical support: cooking, cleaning, driving, banking – as much as can be done. Most of all, they provide hope, comfort, a link to the outside world, a kind hand and voice.

I have been taking care of our mother in her home since 2020, with some help from my siblings, especially my sister, Cris, the other half of the shineandrise.com. Lately, as my sister and I are getting more and more exhausted, we are able to count on the practical assistance of some wonderful, kind, personal support workers to help with our mother’s care when we are not there. Back in 2020, I wrote this reflection as a challenge to prove to myself that I could. A blue slip in one of the religious magazines my mother receives asked readers to write about their pandemic experience. The following is what I wrote with some slight changes and some photos and links added.

If you are, have been, or anticipate that you will be a caregiver, I hope you enjoy this reflection, which first appeared in mariasmind.com.

So. My default during this pandemic year – and I am distressingly aware that it is unbecoming, emotionally unhealthy and demoralizing, as well as annoying and worrying to others – has been to grumble about my present situation: abrupt retirement from teaching, but dreams put on hold in order to care for my mother and unwillingly become embroiled in the consequences of the life choices she has made.

 The physical distancing required because of my dread of COVID-19, especially for my frail mother, has had some unexpectedly beneficial results. The inability to casually meet family and friends, because of my instinctive need to keep it at bay from my children and my mother, has led to a surprising sense of how precious virtual communication – by phone and video – has become. In addition, I know that I am not the only one who has returned to notepaper, stamps and cards in order to sustain a link with far-away, housebound, elderly aunts. Our compliance with the shifting restrictions as the number of COVID cases has fluctuated means that these connections are more treasured because they are selective and comparatively rare.

           The pace of my life has slowed down during this pandemic year, which has resulted in some unforeseen benefits. I abruptly retired from teaching to become my mother’s full-time caregiver. I am surprised by how quickly I seem to have left behind the preoccupations of my teaching life as I rarely think about the routines, the students and the marking. However, my fellow English teachers and the stresses of the job are still very much in my dreams. Also, I am aware – as is my mother – that my training is definitely reflected in how I deal with the responsibilities of caregiving; I create a lesson plan – a structure for our time together – being mindful of what must be done, such as meal preparation, daily stretches, and fitting in a livestreamed mass several times a week. I rarely think about teaching because my role now is so radically different yet similarly emotionally time-consuming. Despite my self-doubts about my inadequacies – especially my impatience – as the kind of caregiver my mother wants, I lessen my guilt a little by reminding myself that I am a responsible, competent woman. In other words, I tell myself that I am trying – small steps – to give her what she needs rather than solely what she wants. Positive results – more physical and emotional stamina and engagement – is satisfying.

           I am aware of a shift in priorities. Similarly to how my mother’s world has shrunk, my need to sustain a reasonably positive state of mind is reflected in how selective I have become about what I read, reflect on, and discuss. In order not to be overwhelmed, my mother and I keep our COVID conversations simple and personal; we talk about the progress of the virus – and now the vaccines – here in Ontario and in her native country. Unsurprisingly, we also talk about those who have caught the virus among her family and friends and mourned those who could not win the fight against it.

           My mother, who has been house-bound this past year, as many seniors are, makes the effort to maintain her friendships and family relationships by making phone calls, sharing tidbits of family news, her health concerns, and the worrisome progression of the virus and its impact on those who are part of her world. Although the news she receives is sometimes distressing and, occasionally, tragic, remaining connected to others – although she only hears their voices – helps to alleviate her solitude and sense of isolation: her frustrated awareness that her previously busy calendar, filled with volunteering intertwined with her faith-based activities and connections, is now empty except for medical appointments. Her phone calls reflect her priorities: family, close friends and her strong and abiding faith. They also support my strong belief that most people are kind and want to help; one of my mother’s regular callers – a fellow Legion of Mary member – regularly organizes a brief visit by a local parish priest. He brings communion, but he also brings a connection to her life before COVID, and her increasing weakness, effectively ended – at least for now – her frequent visits to her neighbourhood churches for prayer, emotional support and conversations with her fellow parishioners.

           Ironically, as my mother’s physical contact with the world has shrunk, her virtual world has expanded. My laptop has brought the churches and shrines around the world to her kitchen table. For example, on March 19, the feast day of St. Joseph, we watched the mass from St. Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal. We have watched a mass and then virtually toured the Basilica of St. Anthony in Italy. We have also explored, virtually, the unique beauty of the Sistine Chapel. Not only are these buildings important to her because of what they symbolize – monuments built to reflect and sustain the Catholic faith – they are also stepping stones to reminiscing about our actual visits to these places with other family members.

           Although my mother occasionally enjoys watching masses from Italy, as well as other churches in Toronto such as St. Michael’s Cathedral, most of the masses we watch are livestreamed from her local parish. It is interesting to participate in a mass being celebrated in a different setting, but I notice that she only asks me to find them when it is a specific feast day that is meaningful to her and has a connection to a specific church community. In a time of so much uncertainty and change, I know that it is comforting for her to see mass celebrated in a familiar setting. She knows her parish priests and deacon and recognizes some of the faithful parishioners who have gone to mass in person when that has been permitted.

           My laptop connects us to her parish, other churches, medical appointments via Zoom and her banking, but her large living room window connects her to the changing seasonal landscape of her neighbourhood. From her recliner, my mother marvels at the young dog walker who can keep eight dogs under control, and is amused by the older gentleman who passes the house, taking his two dogs, one very large and one very small, for their daily walks, and the energetic toddler twins and their slightly older sister who occasionally wave at us as they pass with their mother, father or grandparent. Despite the winter cold, the sunny days are wonderful because they tend to cheer her up and illuminate her family photos and flowers. Yesterday, we saw our first robin, pecking for food on her front lawn.

           In summary, the most worthwhile and comforting result of this quiet, mostly solitary time with my mother, which is a novel experience for us, is the gift of time spent learning about and being with each other.   

Writing about caregiving is very difficult: so many emotions to process and so little time in which to do it. Have you ever been a caregiver? or are you one now? What is the easiest part for you? Is there an easy part? What is the most difficult? How do you manage? Please use the comments section below to let us know about your experience. Happy Caregivers Day!