Confession: I’m a caregiver, and I have no idea what I’m doing.
Two years ago, I shifted from a 25-year sales career to becoming the primary caregiver for my mother, who lives 3000 miles away. Mom’s been suffering from Alzheimer’s for the past few years, I learned, as I spent more time with her. And she’s aware that she’s slowly slipping, but refuses to acknowledge this, because of her religious beliefs. Disease of any type is a topic we never talk about. For her, to acknowledge dementia would be to admit that it’s real and to believe that God’s plan has been altered.
She doesn’t need overnight care yet, but recently, I hired a paid caregiver to help out when I travel “home” every two months. Home, I’ve found, is not a place. It’s wherever my heart takes me.
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