Caregivers Balance on Giving/Keeping Train Tracks

Have you ever walked a set of train tracks? The tracks split the horizon’s corn fields, forests, cliffs, or whatever terrain you’re in. Sometimes, straight-ahead, sometimes curving, the tracks also lead you toward the horizon. Miles of parallel rails give you goals and steely resolve to get there. Wailing whistles from afar do not deter you from your journey. Only when the train’s rhythmic clacking echoes in your ears and its rotating beams blind you can you know you’ve reached the horizon. Your walk is over—almost.

Sometimes I feel elder care is like walking on train tracks toward a horizon-goal of loving your parent well until he or she dies. Normal-sized people walk the wooden ties under the tracks; only a giant could actually reach both rails with his feet. But if you’ll give me license to imagine elder care with one caregiver foot on each rail, I’ll continue with this word picture.

The horizon is the true end—the “Well done, good and faithful servant” we all want to hear regarding how well we loved our aging parent. The train is Mom or Dad’s physical death. Changing landscapes are new diagnoses, physical and mental declines, varying demands of managing two lives—yours and your parent’s. The rails you must balance on are the giving-to-your-parent rail and the keeping-for-yourself rail.

When Mom or Dad is rushed to the ER, we sprint on the giving rail until we’re completely sapped or the crisis passes, whichever comes first. When we take a vacation, we can take a foot off the giving rail, but our loved one is never out of mind, so at best, vacations are limping along with one foot on the keeping rail and one on the railroad ties. When we’re flat-on-our-back sick, we rest on the keeping rail. But most days, we are quite intentional about toggling upright and strong on both rails—tending to our parent’s meals, doctor appointments, bills, social life, electronic traumas, as well as our own.  

Much has been said about the need to take care of your own physical and mental well-being. I will not detail suggestions except to provide a link to an excellent list on Caregiver.com. I really struggle to keep one foot firmly on each rail. The older I get, the more I appreciate how much my parents gave—and give—to me. I wish I could run on the giving rail all the time. Also, the older I get, the more aware I am of my own energy limitations. That blessing, more than any wisdom I could brag about, enables me to accept giving less in order to hang ten on the keeping rail.

When a parent dies, as my father just did, the train flattens you for a time. My walk with my father is over—almost. You lie there trackside in the weeds wondering who you are now, what just happened, and what your life might look like going forward. It’s too soon for me to fully answer those questions. My more immediate concern is when to mount the giving track again to walk with my mother toward a new horizon at the end of the tracks.