Perhaps not a great title, but it has a certain alliterative appeal. It’s certainly better than The Guilt Train Keeps Chugging or The Ever-Rolling Guilt Train.
Guilt. It’s not a pleasant thing. It’s heavy, stressing . . . debilitating. Sometimes it’s warranted, other times not. In my case, it’s saddening and dispiriting, to be sure.
My mother has been offered a bed and will officially enter a LTC facility Monday morning. Does she know? No. Why? Given she believes long-term-care facilities are strictly for “crazy people”, and knowing how she reacts to certain things, I felt it wasn’t in her (or my) best interest to be advised that this is happening.
Guilt trip #1: putting her in a home.
Guilt trip #2: not telling her about said home.
Guilt trip #3: being an ungrateful daughter who has allowed her mother to work her fingers to the bone (this she’s been telling me re me/we saying her she has to remain in the hospital a “wee while longer”).
Guilt trip #4: not being able to provide the care that she now requires and dealing appropriately with the increasing dementia (don’t good daughters [continue to] do everything, regardless of the cost to their own health?).
Guilt trip #5: not having been an amazing child throughout the years.
On another note, the hospital staff are amazing. They’d agreed (given the “unique” situation) to keep her there until she is transferred to the facility. Patient and understanding, supportive and helpful only begin to describe the awesome team.
Yes, she’s been super annoyed and angry at me re her stay in the hospital. She doesn’t understand that she cannot walk anymore, that it takes at least two people to transfer her from the bed to a chair. The dementia is not part of the equation—and we don’t talk about that, rightly so. Some people can handle it when told. I’ve known some who accepted the diagnosis rather graciously and simply went with the flow, one woman even laughing when she had a fight with her daughter. “She’ll be fuming for hours, but in two minutes, I’ll have forgotten all about it.”
During the last ten-plus days, I’ve received enough evil eyes to fell the Jolly Green Giant (always liked his beans), heard comments about my many faults. And, undoubtedly, there’ll be many more to come.
There you have it, the guilt train does indeed keep chugging along. I suspect it will for a long, long while.
Sorry, Mom, I’m such a disappointment and haven’t been what you wanted me to be.