By AMY SHANKLAND
Sandwiched
I think many people in the sandwich generation will agree with me when I say that one of the hardest things about this role is switching places with your elderly parent.
When I was finally permitted to enter my mother’s little apartment seven weeks ago, I was rather astonished at what I saw. I knew it was hard for my mom to pick up after herself. But after almost five months, her place was in rather rough shape.
The cleaning staff had done what they could, but it’s hard to clean when things are strewn everywhere and you’re not permitted to throw away items. My husband and I, however, had no issues going back to her apartment couple of days later to de-clutter and clean with, shall we say, gusto.
Her facility was supposed to be doing her laundry during those months, but they probably didn’t know what was clean and what was dirty. I grabbed everything that wasn’t folded or on a hanger and took five loads to the local laundromat.
My jaw dropped when I saw how many things were stained with nail polish … shirts, nightgowns, towels, etc. I actually had to throw some pieces of clothing away. I also knew her recliner, which was only a year old, was stained with the polish along with her side table.
During my next visit, after I put away her clothes, I grabbed her bottle of nail polish and told her I was taking it to the beauty salon. She was back to regular hair and nail appointments, so I figured this wouldn’t be an issue.
I figured wrong. I got a phone call from her not long afterward asking where her nail polish was.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but you’ve stained and ruined so many things, I had to take it to the salon. You’re getting your nails done every two weeks now, so you shouldn’t have to do touch ups anyway.” In fact, the beautician told me she was grateful because Mom had layered on so much polish that it was hard to remove it!
I hoped that would make her happy. But according to various people who have visited her, she’s rather, shall we say, peeved with me.
It’s hard when you switch places and you become more of the “parent” to your own parent. I know that I’m absolutely doing the right thing. I’ve explained my reasoning to Mom now more than once. But at her age, she doesn’t believe me about her clothes and other items.
I know I’m certainly not alone in my situation, which brings me some comfort. I’ve also brought Mom some treats from Dairy Queen to try to smooth things over. It works … for a little while.