Losing Yourself at Both Ends

The dilemma of caring for grandchildren and ageing parents

One end: Welded.

My grandsons have ruled my heart since they were born.

Two have been difficult, different, even as babies. I love their autism almost as much as I love them. It welds them into my heart, it breaks it occasionally.

And it teaches me about myself as much as it teaches me about them.

High functioning autism is a hidden disability.

It disguises itself and makes you forget, but it doesn’t go away. It just tricks you from day to day and year to year. There are times I could doubt, looking at their beautiful faces and strong, straight bodies. Or the way they excel at every sport. Or act like everyday, idiotic teenagers.

But the mask slips.

They tell me every statistic possible about every team in every game in every sport. Or melt down overwhelmed by anxieties. Or pick their kid brother up on impulse and throw him like a football. Or run out of class because they can’t sit still any longer. And so it continues.

I run through their short experience of life.

They are subject to patterns of denial and ignorance, but also of learning and evolution. Opposing forces of acceptance and discrimination, cruelty and love. I always love because I’m a grandmother. I’ve been there, since their first steps, and always will be. Welded.

The other end: Mothered.

My mother is beyond elderly.

My mother, at 96, lives alone in her own apartment in a retirement ‘resort.’ This term belies the truth of helplessness. But that’s the point. A residential setting that promises independence, except for the carers paid to keep a watchful eye. They do the things she is too proud for me to do. Like showering, dressing, laundry or cleaning. But I do everything else, or at least organise to get it done.

She mothered me, now I return the gift.

Ageing parents and growing children have the same vulnerability.

They can be sad, fragile, lonely, anxious and confused. Someone has to care enough to keep them safe and keep them sane.

Paying attention to both ends of human existence, growth and decline, takes time and patience. School runs and dementia assessments. Games in the park and quiet, hand-holding chats.

At the bottom of the priority heap, is a good man.

He understands that women love their children far more than their husbands. And that grandchildren are loved the most. But he clings on with patience, waiting for crumbs.

Meanwhile, the energy is burnt away at both ends.

It is spent on both young and old, frail and strong. On those growing up and those growing old, in perfect synchrony with each other.

I trust one day I’ll be me again, when everyone has finished their own journey.

And somewhere in this time of strange rewards, there will be a time for goodbyes, and a time for new beginnings. I only hope I’m ready when it comes.