Sometimes the cards that life deals us are particularly challenging. Painful things can happen, and sometimes there is nothing we can do to make it any better. I was asked recently how I cope with my father’s incapacity following a stroke, and the question made me think.
The stroke happened in July 2012, following a routine operation, abroad. I flew out almost immediately and spent four days by my father’s bedside, wondering if I would ever see him again after this. I helped to feed him, tried to encourage him to come back to us a little, talked and talked and held his hand. The intimacy of these days was a shock to me. We had never been close and for decades had only seen each other for lunch one day a year. Not that such a distant relationship was my choice. Suddenly I was launched into the role of a typical daughter and it felt odd.
When I returned to the UK, I noticed how much I missed being able to contact my father by email and occasional phone call. Knowing that he was no longer the powerful, larger-than-life figure he had always been, I found that his critical voice inside my head gradually became quieter and less insistent. He was no longer in a position to be asked his opinion, or to sanction or criticise my thoughts or actions.
Sadly, circumstances have meant that my father has received little, if any, stroke rehab. It is likely that, had he been in the UK when the stroke happened, he would have received ongoing treatment that could have retrieved more of his left hemisphere, his logical thought and language, but that hasn’t happened and, nearly two years later, I suspect it is now too late.
A little while ago he was brought back to the UK and is now in hospital here. There are incredibly complicated and painful circumstances surrounding him, but his awareness is limited. When we visit, painfully distanced as so often happens when there is a second family involved, he is pleased to see us but mainly remains wrapped up in his own discomfort and depression. Communication is, of course, terribly difficult, requiring patience, but it is possible to have simple conversations by offering multiple choice type options for what he might be wanting to say.
My friend’s question has made me think about how I cope with the knowledge of this severe incapacitation, both when I see my father and when I am going about my day-to-day life. Although we weren’t close, the truth is that he was always there, somewhere, and was always strong, opinionated and in charge. He always had something to say even if he didn’t listen, and he never, ever appeared vulnerable. He is now at the opposite pole, almost incapable of speech, passive, vulnerable and powerless. Not only is this distressing to witness in a parent, but it significantly changes the family dynamics and one’s sense of self.
When I first came back from my short visit, I was thinking about my father all the time. I knew that, while I continued to drive, work, look after my home and family, he was stuck in a hospital bed, incontinent and unable to speak, helpless. I found ways to live alongside this knowledge without thinking about it all the time and, even more challenging, I learned to live with a long-term lack of information about his state of health while he was still abroad. When he returned to the UK, I again felt compelled to think about him all the time for a while, especially when he became more unwell, and I had to redouble my efforts.
This situation is one aspect of the Big Problem I have written about before, which has been one of my greatest gifts as it has taught me not to worry. I asked myself what I do, specifically, to deal with my thoughts and feelings about my father. How I carry on living a comfortable, happy and productive life while this situation persists. This is what I came up with:
It has been crucial for me to ask for and accept help. My friends know about my father and they ask how I am coping. After a while, they stopped asking how he was because they realised that I didn’t know, but they continued to ask how I was. And I learned not to say ‘fine,’ but to share my actual feelings. I allow myself to be supported and I listen when people tell me I have a lot on my plate. This reminds me to be kind to myself.
Being kind to myself is part of self-care which is absolutely essential. Because I have an ongoing stress which can be emotionally draining, I need to take extra care of myself in the areas that I have some control over. That means eating, sleeping, resting, and meeting the needs I have identified as important, such as time alone, exercise, connection with nature and inspiration.
I have worked extremely hard to accept what is. Practising acceptance doesn’t mean that I have to like something, just that I have given up trying to fight with reality. I have various strategies to help me accept, but one of my favourites is to say ‘yes.’ I say to myself, ‘yes, this is how it is,’ and nod my head up and down. It may sound odd but it really helps. Getting stuck in denial is stressful, tiring and unhelpful. Acceptance may seem scary but once we get used to it, it can be a blessed relief.
I have moved up several gears in my practice of gratitude. Of course it would be perverse to be grateful that my father is as unwell as he is. But I can look for things to be grateful for in any situation and this helps to change my thinking. As I have often shared, I start my gratitude journal first thing in the morning and finish with it before I go to sleep. In between, I routinely look for gratitude. If I can’t feel grateful, I practise gratitude anyway. It’s a discipline, and the feeling can follow if I take the action.
I discipline my thinking. Learning how to choose what I think about has been incredibly freeing. It may, at first, seem callous to choose not to think about someone who is suffering while we are going about our day, but in fact, other than when we are taking necessary action or when we are choosing to think loving thoughts and send love, it serves no purpose. It really is possible to learn how to pick our thoughts, replacing negative ones with something more nurturing.
This one is crucial: I stay as present as I possibly can. Being present means we are in the here and now. Most of us spend a significant amount of time thinking about the past (last year, yesterday, five minutes ago) and the future (10 minutes from now, this evening or next week) and by doing this we are actually missing our lives. We live in the now, right here, right now, this moment, and this one, and this one. If we move away from the present via our thinking, we are not really here at all. Learning to become more present means we show up for our lives and address fully what each moment requires of us. We may have all sorts of pain and problems happening, but unless that moment requires us to address them, we are free from them as long as we stay present.
I’ve meditated for some years now, but I have increased and deepened my practice considerably. It helps me with disciplining my thinking and it also ensures that I take a little bit of peace into the rest of the day with me. No matter what happens during the day, if I have meditated I have already experienced stillness, and my being seems to sense that. When there is pain and sadness, a sense of peace is very comforting.
I remember that I am not just a head being transported around by a body. I live in my whole body and really feeling that is a good way to stay present and grounded. I exercise, do yoga, walk, enjoy a bath, use my senses to really feel what it is like to be alive. All of these activities help me to be free of my thinking, of the illusion that my head is in charge.
Fun. Perhaps a controversial one, especially when something awful is going on. While you are doing your own life, working, looking after family, shopping etc, it feels wrong somehow to be frivolous, silly or humorous when you know your parent is suffering. Just think for a moment, though. Our parents want the best for us, always. Those of us who have children ourselves know this from our own experience. If I was desperately ill, while I would want my son to spend time with me, support and love me, I would not want him to spend all his time suffering too. I would be glad to know he was laughing and smiling and looking after himself while I was unwell. All those things, smiling, laughing, playing, bring us into the present and make us feel more truly alive, so helping us to avoid worry and unnecessary reflection. If we have allowed ourselves to laugh and play, we are better equipped to love and support our sick parent and we take with us vibrant and healing energy.
These principles have helped me to live well through a particularly draining and trying situation, which shows no signs of improving. During this period, I have also had to address the closer and more immediate challenges of my mother, who has multiple sclerosis, breaking her hip, needing a lot of prolonged care and subsequently being hospitalised several times with heart issues. With my own life, work and family to deal with while all of this was happening, it would have been easy to feel overwhelmed, and of course at times I have had those feelings. But most of the time I have been able to apply what I know, stay present and grateful, manage my thinking and live my life as my parents would want me to.
All of these ideas, and more, are addressed in detail, including my experience while learning them, in my forthcoming book Towards Tranquillity. If you’d like to know more, please keep in touch. Follow me on Facebook or Twitter, sign up to receive my newsletter, and let’s spread the tranquillity!
