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My husband's parents live with us, and I am going a little nuts dealing with his mother. She is 81, obese, and can barely walk at this point. She sleeps about 16 hours a day, and there are many days that will go by without her coming upstairs (their bedroom and tv room are in the basement). And yet, I can see her going on like this for another 10 years or so. Hooray for modern medicine!
I have to remind myself to detach emotionally and not get frustrated with her. But what particularly bothers me is how it limits the life of my father-in-law. He used to have a job at the grocery store that he loved, but she didn't like being alone, so he quit and now just sits and watches tv with her all day. We're trying to plan a trip to Spain (where he's from), but have to figure out what to do with her because she refuses to go.
I guess I'm struggling to figure out how much of this is coming from her body not working anymore, and how much is just depression (she did spend some time in a mental hospital about 15 years ago and is on Lexapro, which doesn't seem to be doing much). And what do you do when somebody is unwilling to make any moves to help themselves get something out of life? She's just waiting around to die at this point and I hate watching it.
I did not watch my parents die. Well, I did watch my father die, or I got real close to watching it--he died in the night around 3 am, and I got the call in my hotel room at the airport where I was supposed to be flying out that day (I did.) But I had slept in his room and kept vigil when we knew death was very near. We (me, whoever else who also knew but wasn't there, certainly the hospice nurses, probably my brother) knew, we just didn't know exactly when. At the end (not the very end because as I say I did not see the very end) he had been found clutching his shirt (it was only a shirt front, it was for appearances for possible visitors--easier to maneuver him for being washed etc, explained the nurse, or caretaker, or whatever she was by training. A kind woman, or very good at faking kindness.) He had been found, anyway, clutching his shirt up almost above his chest, as if trying to tear it off, with--I was told with merciless accuracy--tears streaming down his face.
My dad had been robust. He had been neither soft nor weak as a man. He had never made a sound that suggested he was owed anything, or that the world was treating him poorly. Never uttered any complaint about anything, at least to my memory And this was a man who had nursed his wife (my mother) through the most degrading stages of cancer. When she died, finally, he once confided in me, he was grateful. He had prayed that God take her. He had said he was grateful that I had never had to see her in her final state (my mother had been an exceptionally beautiful woman in her youth). Age does its thing, though.
I write this to commend you for taking in your husband's parents in this way, for not every wife would. I also write it to hint at what no doubt you already expect, the thought that bleeds through each of your sentences here: It's going to get worse.
This isn't a warning. I am not giving advice. And true enough, I was (and am) 4,500 nautical miles from my home country's coastline, then if you just flew like a crow another 1900 miles. Then I'd be, or would have been, right there in the thick of it, scrubbing carpets out, making dinners and taking them in then taking out plates with food still on them. And the in-between time just stretches of Seinfeld reruns, or watching the frail old man who had once struck fear and respect in your heart fill books of sudoku puzzles, books you'll eventually collect in a Glad bag with every other bit of everyday flotsam and toss in the big green barrel that you'll wheel to the curb for trash pickup and burning. I don't have any high ground here. I was gone. And had I not been gone many, many things might have gone considerably better for my family (my American family, the one who had me the first part of my life.)
So what's my fucking point? You say you don't know how much of her inertia is her body's weakness, and how much depression. At risk of taking a monist stance, I'd say probably both. How can we know the dancer from the dance (apologies to Yeats).
It is what it is. In an upbeat film, she'd remember something or someone from Europe, or a dream she once had of seeing Sagrada Familia, she'd take the trip, there would be many comedic scenes of family frustration bound by love, and then the film would end, or she'd die in her sleep peacefully in the hotel bed. I like movies, too. I should write one. And who knows how close your reality will be to something less dark, more optimistic. I don't, certainly.
Do you have anyone you can lay all this out to besides your husband? (It's possible you can to him, but because it's his mom the dynamic of that conversation may not be ideal.) Mind you I come from a tribe that never talked anything out, and did its best to avoid any talking of any sort that would be in line with the American therapeutic chat up. But for some that helps.
My train is here. Sorry to end abruptly. I wish you good luck.
I fear I'm making this sound worse than it is. I really don't have to do anything for her; it just annoys me that she is wasting her life while other lives are too short (my own mom died when she was 45). If things do get to the point where she requires actual physical care, I plan to bring in the professionals and give my sisters-in-law the primary responsibility.
She's actually from Utah, where we live now. We moved here a couple of years ago so she could be close to her daughters who all live here. She does get a bit misty when we visit the local steakhouse :D
Probably it was I who was channeling my experience into your own. That is very young for your mother to have died, you yourself must have been quite young also.
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