Riding the Rails

uite a bit of the work I do as The Eldersitter is, well, stressful. There are appointments to schedule and attend, medical histories to learn and commit to memory, lists of medication to manage, personalities to accommodate, meals to cook, laundry to wash, floors to clean, reminders to exercise to issue, hurt feelings from loss of abilities to salve, clothing to put on Mom, shoes to put on Dad--the list goes on and on.

But, there are a lot of wonderful things involved in eldersitting, not the least of which is having time to listen to stories of the past. Dad has been telling me lots of them, particularly when we are driving to doctor appointments. A couple of weeks ago, I heard the best one yet: that of Uncle riding the rails.

There used to be a railroad track that went right past my Grandma's back yard. Over the years, rail traffic in that area diminished to the point there was only one train each direction per day. Dad doesn't remember if it was then that Uncle did this stunt, or if it was after the trains stopped altogether but the tracks had not yet been removed. Uncle used to go for an unusual kind of joy ride.

Apparently, Uncle and his friends had figured out that if you had the right width vehicle and used bias ply tires with some of the air let out, you could drive along the railroad tracks without steering! (How much experimenting did they do before finding the right width vehicle and correct tire pressure is what I want to know!)

So anyway, Uncle would do this from time to time. In the dark. With the headlights off.

Once, he was riding the rails and decided to turn on his headlights--just as he was going over a bridge!! I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was his last rail ride!

The Things You Learn

hen Eldersitting your parents, you sometimes learn some interesting things.

My parents' relationship has not been very good in recent years. They are of the generation that wouldn't consider divorce, otherwise I sometimes wonder if they'd still be together. When I moved up here, I was disturbed to find out Mom wanted me to be her confidante and counselor. I wouldn't have thought I'd mind, but the things she was telling me! One day, she told me that Dad never even wanted to have children. That was the worst. Honestly, I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing that one.

She told me that when I was up prepping their house for us to move in, but I hadn't yet packed at home. I called my husband, crying, and told him what she'd said, and that I wasn't sure if I could do this. He reassured me that it would be OK, that even if Dad hadn't wanted to have children, he obviously loved us once he had us.

After that, I told Mom that I couldn't be her counselor and confidante. After all, I'm living with Dad, too, and I don't want reasons to not love him. She's been pretty good about remembering not to complain to me about him.

When I was a little kid, I loved the song, "Funny Face" by Donna Fargo. I would listen to it over and over on the 8-track player, at the age of 4 pushing the button repeatedly to skip the other songs on the tape. Dad started calling me "Funny Face". I never took it as an insult, even when I grew older, because of the next line in the song, "Funny face... I love you."

I love you too, Dad.

Money

My husband is in grad school, so for the past two years, I have been the sole provider for our family's financial needs. When we came up to take care of my parents, it seemed like things would be good: we'd get free room and board, I could get a part time job, and if we ran out of money, Mom and Dad agreed to back us up financially. Sounded like a pretty good deal, all the way around.

Unfortunately, I haven't had time to look for that part time job, nor would I have time to work it if I had it.

In the past 6 weeks, there have been 4 days, Monday-Friday, that I didn't have to take one or both of them to an appointment. At first, it seemed to be just a convenience to them to have me drive. Now, it's of the utmost importance that I go with them because they and the doctors need to use my memory (such as it is).

So, every once in awhile, I've asked them for some money. Do you know how hard it is, as an adult, to ask your parents for money? Maybe it wouldn't be hard for some people, but it is extremely difficult for me. Once, I waited too long to ask, and we overdrew our checking account! To an extent, I feel like I should be here taking care of them for nothing. They are, after all, my parents (honor thy father and thy mother includes caring for them in their old age), and they provided for me as I was growing up, and helped me a lot when I was a young adult, too. But the fact of the matter is, if I had a job, I wouldn't be able to be here, and they would be paying a whole lot of money for assisted living. Not to mention they wouldn't be able to stay in the home they know and love.

This morning, I had a talk with them, and we agreed to an amount. It's a far cry from what they would be paying to go to Assisted Living, but is enough for us, along with room and board and some work-from-home things I do, for us to get by. My husband and I have both accepted the fact that God will not allow us to be rich, because we have too much pride and too little humility to use it properly.

And maybe God will teach us some humility in the process.

The sweetest part of it was when they asked how much I wanted to be paid, and I said I didn't know and asked what they thought I was worth, Dad smiled and said, "Far more than we can afford to pay you."