I read somewhere recently that July was, among other things, designated Sandwich Generation Month by somebody to honor those who find themselves in the challenging position of providing significant support and care to both aging parents and their own children. The term was coined by Dorothy Miller in 1981 when it was becoming apparent that longer life spans, the economy, and other factors were combining to create a socioeconomic trend not previously observed. In the years since, some subtle refinements and nuance have been added. They now talk of the "Club Sandwich" in which some are now involved in care for their parents, their children, and also their grandchildren. For a smaller number of generally younger people, such care encompasses their children, parents, and grandparents. There is also the term "Open Face Sandwich" to refer to anyone involved in elder care.
All this thought of food has come to me over the past month as we have struggled with all the issues around Ingrid's mom, while also continuing to prepare for the last child's wedding coming up this fall. Compared to many, our situation has been mostly good. Both kids are out of school and on their own with good jobs and bright futures. There has been no "boomeranging" of kids having to come back into our home for various reasons.
My parents passed away more than 15 years ago with essentially no muss, no fuss. In both of their cases, the end came quickly; there were no long drawn-out downward spirals requiring nursing homes, multiple hospital visits, etc. Although my mom suffered some memory problems the last few years, Dad cared for her. Then she passed suddenly, asleep in her favorite chair after her morning walk. Dad was lonely, but still comparatively vibrant until his cataracts prevented him from getting out and around. There was some confusion about what his insurance would and would not do for him, and he basically wilted quickly thereafter. Upon his first visit to the hospital, I got a call saying it would not be long and that he wanted to go. It was at the time of our son's high school graduation celebration, and he implored me not to disrupt things and travel back there to sit in the hospital room; he had plenty of other relatives there to keep him company. There was no need to worry how anything was going to be paid for or who was going to do it. Really, very, very simple and straightforward; I now realize what a tremendous blessing and a curse that was. I now feel guilty to this day that I was not there at the end, even though I know, as he did, that it would have been pointless.
Unfortunately, we are not getting off scot-free. Ingrid's family has had way more than their fair share of physical and mental health issues over the years. Her father (Jim) passed away in 2003 after extensive battles over the last 45 years with everything from a burst aortic anuerism, bipolar illness, kidney failure, and an unusual vascular disease to blindness and loss of a leg due to diabetes complications. His last few years were tumultuous to say the least. Seemingly countless falls at home, trips to the ER, in and out of rehab, VA, and nursing facilities. Still, for all his challenges, he was basically gracious to the end; happy to have visitors, resigned to his fate, and ready to go on.
Now, it is Ingrid's mother's time. Brunehilde (or Omi as most in our family call her) was a German war bride. Her parents were pretty well off before WWII, and she was basically forced into a life of stark survival during the war. She remembers nearly drowning in a basement after an attack collapsed their home around them, and we still have a dented candelabra as a memento of that time. Her father was drawn into service as a Major in the Third Reich and had enough influence to get his family moved out to a small village (Waldaubach) to escape the Allied bombings.There were years of great shortages, nothing to eat but potatoes, questionable meat and cabbage, wondering how they would ever get through the next day. Then, the war was over; she was an attractive teenager, and there was this red-headed American Air Force guy (Jim) in town with access to chocolate.
They married and he brought her back to the States, which I gather entailed some culture shock. Jim's family situation was different from hers. Grandma had spent several years in a state hospital for depression, while Grandpa had sent all the kids to an orphanage because he felt he couldn't care for them. They lived on a small farm outside of Waxahachie, Texas. Jim was the oldest of seven kids. Life was hard, and Jim was still in the Air Force. There were several transfers around the country, winding up with a year away in icy Greenland. Brunehilde was with Jim's family in Texas when Ingrid was born.
Jim finally got out of the Air Force and worked as hard as he could at one job or another. Another daughter came along, and there were periodic trips back to Germany, as well as visiting relatives to their home in Dallas. In the 1960's, Jim's health began to decline, especially starting with a car wreck which he later described to me as a suicide attempt. He was always a little crippled up after that, and then the bipolar stuff set in with a vengeance. Brunehilde did everything she could, doing childcare in the home for a little extra money during those times Jim couldn't work. Jim's stint in the Air Force had qualified him for a range of VA benefits that, looking back, were really quite remarkable. There was some help from Germany, and finally Jim got started with a small paint contracting business that brought in enough. Fourteen years after the birth of their first child, Preston came along.
Brunehilde was always a major social butterfly, and every German in Dallas seemingly knew her. There were a lot of Germans in Dallas, and they often gathered at her home for kaffeklutches, parties to celebrate almost any occasion, or just in general to hang out. An inheritance from Germany paid for a nice backyard pool, and Jim loved to barbeque steaks while everyone splashed. I came along and joined the family at the height of the party.
Ingrid and I married, had our first child, and moved away from Dallas in another couple years. After that, things slowly began to slide over the next ten years as Jim's health worsened. Eventually, they sold their home and moved to be near us. It was a tough change for them. After several years of hospital visits and nursing home stays, Jim finally passed away. Brunehilde was pretty lost for awhile, as she had pretty much devoted much of the last 15 years to worrying about and caring for Jim. She made a couple of unfortunate financial decisions in refinancing their home, and eventually ran out of money. Again, the VA came through with a widow benefit program, and she was able to move into a small apartment in a retirement community where she had a couple pretty good years with some new friends playing bridge.
Last May, she had a stroke and things have been going seriously downhill ever since. She has always been a very proud German; very opinionated and, some might say, bombastic. The sudden onset of her illness hit her like a thunderbolt. She has never exercised or watched what she ate; butter, goose grease and liverwurst were mainstays of her diet. Also, as happens to many over the years, she began to drink a little too much, and more with each passing year. Now, she is too weak to roll over in bed by herself and has become incontinent. She is terribly scared about what may come next, embarrassed by her condition, and generally unwilling to try any physical therapy. She has quit eating and just wants out.
The family is all just exhausted. Since late May, she has been in the hospital four times, a rehab center, home for three days before developing blood clots, and is now back in another rehab place. We understand she has about three weeks left on what her Medicare will cover, then it may be on to a real nursing home where she may basically lie in bed until she passes. The cost of what lies ahead is unknown. We are struggling to figure out what all the options are and have been overwhelmed by the alphabet soup of programs and the differences between various facilities; some take this, but not that. Lengthy forms, Application Assistance Agencies that won't call you back, seemingly endless requirements for various forms of documentation that nobody can locate. We should have started six months ago, and now it seems she may die before anything gets processed.
One bright spot is the wedding plans for our daughter seem to be going well. My major involvement is the periodic writing of a check, and that's ok right now. I'm sure my opinions on what color the tablecloths should be would be unwelcome anyway. With regard to what kind of sandwich I feel like, I guess it is more open-faced than anything else, but it feels kind of like it may be upside-down in the dirt. It has really prompted me to get serious about getting some things done that I have been putting off. Man, this part of life is complicated!!
