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Is Anyone Else Here Coping With Aging difficult child Parents?
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<blockquote data-quote="Marguerite" data-source="post: 60280" data-attributes="member: 1991"><p>Jo, Kjs - I was also a change of life baby. My mother was in her mid-40s, thought she was in menopause and finally went to the doctor for a checkup, to be told she was 6 months pregnant! After already being the focus of local jokes because she already had 7 kids!</p><p></p><p>I'm fortunate, my mother was sensible and cooperative with doctors. Her health was always bad but not through her own neglect in any way, although I did grow up constantly being told that my mother was unlikely to see me into adulthood. Fortunately, she survived but there were some close calls. However, while my mother was able to "be there" for my sisters when they had their first babies, my mother was too old and infirm when it was my turn. But because I'd been at her side when all my sisters went "home to mother" in the first weeks after their babies were born, I already had some idea and managed quite well.</p><p></p><p>She died when difficult child 3 was not quite 2 years old. I remember telling her we were a bit concerned about him in some ways, although delighted at some of his talents. I mentioned to her how with his musical ability he resembled one of my cousins, a Mozart-like prodigy. "Oh glory be, I hope not!" was her reply. When I found out more detail from my sisters later, I realised that my cousin was probably Asperger's (undiagnosed way back then) with very erratic behaviour over the years. But my mother never knew the real extent of the problems...</p><p></p><p>And now a long tale - move on now if you're short of time. This is a harrowing but true story regarding difficult parents. Maybe it's another reason I can put up with just about anything from my mother in law.</p><p></p><p>My best friend went through purgatory with her parents. She had grown up with her overbearing bully of a father riding roughshod over her feelings while her mother simply nodded and smiled, enabling him. He would walk through his daughters' bedroom as a shortcut to his own - whether they were getting dressed or not. My friend was always a chubby girl and he would invite guests into the bathroom to "look at my funny little fat girl" having her bath. She was 10 at the time. Locks on doors were not permitted - he would fly into a rage. The older girl was slim and pretty, he would encourage her to spy on the younger and report what she was eating. But this was also abuse to the older girl - her father only ever valued her for her looks, and now she's getting older, she's an emotional basket case.</p><p></p><p>He developed Alzheimer's. Her mother was in severe pain with degenerative arthritis but was not permitted to use a walking stick or even take pain medication. As he deteriorated he would sit at the table and insist his wife sit there with him, even when she was seriously ill, in agony with her collapsing spine and should have been in bed. He was the cook in the family, but he was leaving things on the stove to burn. He was losing his sense of smell. She, meanwhile, was losing her vision and not seeing this. My friend would visit every week and often get yelled at by her father ("You fat pig! No wonder your husband left you! You're a failure, you can't keep a man because you're so ugly!"). </p><p>My friend would sit down to lunch with her parents as they served up reheated leftovers, and find the food had gone bad. Her parents were eating it anyway, totally oblivious. Her mother was often sick but would refuse to see the doctor ("whaddayamean she's sick! Nothing wrong with her - strong as an ox!") probably because her husband wouldn't allow it, and also because if either of them were put in hospital overnight, that would mean their permanent separation.</p><p></p><p>My friend had tried to get them into a retirement village into a unit together, where they could be cared for, fed decent meals and get proper medical care. They refused. or rather, HE refused and his word was, of course, law to his wife. It had always been easier to give in and pretend he was the love of her life.</p><p>Finally it was too late - he had deteriorated to the point where a retirement village would never take him in.</p><p></p><p>My friend cooked meals for them and loaded them into their freezer. She bought some disposable freezerware so they wouldn't even have to wash up.</p><p>"We can't eat this - it's not home-cooked!" her mother said.</p><p>"Mum, I cooked it myself, using the recipes Dad taught me," the daughter explained. But when she visited the next week, none of it had been touched. Each time she visited, the daughter would thaw out some of this food and put it before her parents. One day she visited and it had all gone. her father had thrown out all the "shop-bought" food. In the fridge was decaying compost.</p><p></p><p>My friend tried to organise community services. Her father refused to "have strangers in the house". Of course, we know now that he KNEW, at some level, that he wasn't coping and that anyone in a position to see how they lived, would have them in a nursing home so fat their heads would spin.</p><p></p><p>My friend's mother was drinking constantly and chain-smoking. Her father had serious breathing problems but really relied on his wife to be there for him, which she generally wasn't after late morning (due to being drunk). My friend would get desperate phone calls at work from her father, "Your mother's drunk again - she's fallen on the floor and won't answer me." But by the time an ambulance showed up, there would be no problem and my friend would be in trouble for not turning up in person to fix things (she worked in the city, over an hour away). "You sent those spies!"</p><p></p><p>All this time, my friend wanted to find a way to fix this. But she couldn't. She was also getting angry phone calls from other family members who had been rung by the father, who was saying things like, "My daughter never visits me, she shouts at me when I telephone her, she never answers her phone, she's stolen my car, she's stealing my money," and so on. My friend had taken the car away to stop her father driving it - he was a danger. But she was always available on the phone to her father - she had her home phone constantly diverted to her mobile, whenever she was out of her house. But he would forget when she had visited.</p><p>And as it happens, it got to the point where he couldn't remember she was his daughter. That was even worse because he was just as nasty to her at times.</p><p>Sometimes he was kind, but it was even harder then because of all the times he had hurt her.</p><p></p><p>She had to detach. It was a constant reminder - detach, detach. Not easy, when he always knew how to push her buttons, even when he didn't seem to remember who she was. She also had to accept that the house was a mess, her parents weren't eating properly, her mother was an alcoholic, they were going to die if something wasn't done - but nothing COULD be done without their consent, until it reached crisis point. And this still wasn't a crisis. She had a fall and broke her pelvis and some ribs - they refused hospital treatment. </p><p></p><p>The crisis finally came and it was sad. They were going over the road to the club - she needed a drink and her daughter had cleaned out the wine and sherry from the house. Going up the steps they would have been holding on to one another. Whoever fell - it doesn't matter. His hip was broken. In hospital emergency, she became hysterical when they said he would have to go into surgery, and then into hospital until it healed. This mean the dreaded separation - they mustn't ever be apart!</p><p>Because she was hysterical, they admitted her to a psychiatric ward. Lockdown. Then they examined her - alcoholism. Malnutrition. Skin & hair unkempt and a mess. Clothes filthy. How could her daughter let her get this way? Daughter had no choice.</p><p></p><p>The old man was asking for his wife. begging for her. They had to sedate him. The surgery didn't go as well as it should have because he was so run-down from lack of decent food & care for so long. Whenever he was conscious he asked for his wife.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, his wife was going through withdrawal. But at last she was getting decent food, adequate pain management and she began to feel her old self. She wanted alcohol, she wanted cigarettes but when told her husband was asking for her, she changed the subject.</p><p></p><p>They wanted to go home. But daughter got power of attorney (legally - she was careful). Daughter sold the house, sold the contents. It took a lot of cleaning and renovation to clean it. I remember her asking me what she could use, to deodorise the house - it smelt like someone had been keeping 100 cats in there (they never owned an animal of any sort).</p><p></p><p>A lot of organisation that had been waiting for so long, finally kicked into place. A retirement home was found for the mother, with nursing home attached for the old man. She could visit him. It was clear he would never walk again - by the time his hip had healed he would have forgotten how.</p><p>This all involved moving three hours' drive away, there was nothing closer. </p><p></p><p>They never did return home, not even to say goodbye. The mother was finally persuaded to see her husband before she was taken to the retirement hostel. He didn't recognise her.</p><p>She settled into her new life as if her husband didn't exist. Finally he was well enough to transport although his surgical wound was not healing. She was told he was dying - she didn't want to see him, but they persuaded her.</p><p></p><p>I was at his funeral. She was playing the grieving widow to the hilt - "Did you know my beloved was in my arms when he died? How will I live without him... - can someone pass me another cigarette?"</p><p>It had always been her coping strategy - denial. It never happened, or it happened the way she wanted to remember it.</p><p></p><p>Today she is very happy. Her cigarettes have gone (it took a lot of effort and constant supervision by staff) and she has only an occasional glass of wine. Her health is closely monitored and someone else cooks her meals.</p><p></p><p>And my friend is still trying to come to terms with all the harm that was done to her, from childhood and onwards.</p><p></p><p>I truly agree, so often the difficult child is the adult in the family. Being caught in a pincer move between difficult child kids and difficult child parents - is it any wonder we're so often walking wounded?</p><p></p><p>Marg</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Marguerite, post: 60280, member: 1991"] Jo, Kjs - I was also a change of life baby. My mother was in her mid-40s, thought she was in menopause and finally went to the doctor for a checkup, to be told she was 6 months pregnant! After already being the focus of local jokes because she already had 7 kids! I'm fortunate, my mother was sensible and cooperative with doctors. Her health was always bad but not through her own neglect in any way, although I did grow up constantly being told that my mother was unlikely to see me into adulthood. Fortunately, she survived but there were some close calls. However, while my mother was able to "be there" for my sisters when they had their first babies, my mother was too old and infirm when it was my turn. But because I'd been at her side when all my sisters went "home to mother" in the first weeks after their babies were born, I already had some idea and managed quite well. She died when difficult child 3 was not quite 2 years old. I remember telling her we were a bit concerned about him in some ways, although delighted at some of his talents. I mentioned to her how with his musical ability he resembled one of my cousins, a Mozart-like prodigy. "Oh glory be, I hope not!" was her reply. When I found out more detail from my sisters later, I realised that my cousin was probably Asperger's (undiagnosed way back then) with very erratic behaviour over the years. But my mother never knew the real extent of the problems... And now a long tale - move on now if you're short of time. This is a harrowing but true story regarding difficult parents. Maybe it's another reason I can put up with just about anything from my mother in law. My best friend went through purgatory with her parents. She had grown up with her overbearing bully of a father riding roughshod over her feelings while her mother simply nodded and smiled, enabling him. He would walk through his daughters' bedroom as a shortcut to his own - whether they were getting dressed or not. My friend was always a chubby girl and he would invite guests into the bathroom to "look at my funny little fat girl" having her bath. She was 10 at the time. Locks on doors were not permitted - he would fly into a rage. The older girl was slim and pretty, he would encourage her to spy on the younger and report what she was eating. But this was also abuse to the older girl - her father only ever valued her for her looks, and now she's getting older, she's an emotional basket case. He developed Alzheimer's. Her mother was in severe pain with degenerative arthritis but was not permitted to use a walking stick or even take pain medication. As he deteriorated he would sit at the table and insist his wife sit there with him, even when she was seriously ill, in agony with her collapsing spine and should have been in bed. He was the cook in the family, but he was leaving things on the stove to burn. He was losing his sense of smell. She, meanwhile, was losing her vision and not seeing this. My friend would visit every week and often get yelled at by her father ("You fat pig! No wonder your husband left you! You're a failure, you can't keep a man because you're so ugly!"). My friend would sit down to lunch with her parents as they served up reheated leftovers, and find the food had gone bad. Her parents were eating it anyway, totally oblivious. Her mother was often sick but would refuse to see the doctor ("whaddayamean she's sick! Nothing wrong with her - strong as an ox!") probably because her husband wouldn't allow it, and also because if either of them were put in hospital overnight, that would mean their permanent separation. My friend had tried to get them into a retirement village into a unit together, where they could be cared for, fed decent meals and get proper medical care. They refused. or rather, HE refused and his word was, of course, law to his wife. It had always been easier to give in and pretend he was the love of her life. Finally it was too late - he had deteriorated to the point where a retirement village would never take him in. My friend cooked meals for them and loaded them into their freezer. She bought some disposable freezerware so they wouldn't even have to wash up. "We can't eat this - it's not home-cooked!" her mother said. "Mum, I cooked it myself, using the recipes Dad taught me," the daughter explained. But when she visited the next week, none of it had been touched. Each time she visited, the daughter would thaw out some of this food and put it before her parents. One day she visited and it had all gone. her father had thrown out all the "shop-bought" food. In the fridge was decaying compost. My friend tried to organise community services. Her father refused to "have strangers in the house". Of course, we know now that he KNEW, at some level, that he wasn't coping and that anyone in a position to see how they lived, would have them in a nursing home so fat their heads would spin. My friend's mother was drinking constantly and chain-smoking. Her father had serious breathing problems but really relied on his wife to be there for him, which she generally wasn't after late morning (due to being drunk). My friend would get desperate phone calls at work from her father, "Your mother's drunk again - she's fallen on the floor and won't answer me." But by the time an ambulance showed up, there would be no problem and my friend would be in trouble for not turning up in person to fix things (she worked in the city, over an hour away). "You sent those spies!" All this time, my friend wanted to find a way to fix this. But she couldn't. She was also getting angry phone calls from other family members who had been rung by the father, who was saying things like, "My daughter never visits me, she shouts at me when I telephone her, she never answers her phone, she's stolen my car, she's stealing my money," and so on. My friend had taken the car away to stop her father driving it - he was a danger. But she was always available on the phone to her father - she had her home phone constantly diverted to her mobile, whenever she was out of her house. But he would forget when she had visited. And as it happens, it got to the point where he couldn't remember she was his daughter. That was even worse because he was just as nasty to her at times. Sometimes he was kind, but it was even harder then because of all the times he had hurt her. She had to detach. It was a constant reminder - detach, detach. Not easy, when he always knew how to push her buttons, even when he didn't seem to remember who she was. She also had to accept that the house was a mess, her parents weren't eating properly, her mother was an alcoholic, they were going to die if something wasn't done - but nothing COULD be done without their consent, until it reached crisis point. And this still wasn't a crisis. She had a fall and broke her pelvis and some ribs - they refused hospital treatment. The crisis finally came and it was sad. They were going over the road to the club - she needed a drink and her daughter had cleaned out the wine and sherry from the house. Going up the steps they would have been holding on to one another. Whoever fell - it doesn't matter. His hip was broken. In hospital emergency, she became hysterical when they said he would have to go into surgery, and then into hospital until it healed. This mean the dreaded separation - they mustn't ever be apart! Because she was hysterical, they admitted her to a psychiatric ward. Lockdown. Then they examined her - alcoholism. Malnutrition. Skin & hair unkempt and a mess. Clothes filthy. How could her daughter let her get this way? Daughter had no choice. The old man was asking for his wife. begging for her. They had to sedate him. The surgery didn't go as well as it should have because he was so run-down from lack of decent food & care for so long. Whenever he was conscious he asked for his wife. Meanwhile, his wife was going through withdrawal. But at last she was getting decent food, adequate pain management and she began to feel her old self. She wanted alcohol, she wanted cigarettes but when told her husband was asking for her, she changed the subject. They wanted to go home. But daughter got power of attorney (legally - she was careful). Daughter sold the house, sold the contents. It took a lot of cleaning and renovation to clean it. I remember her asking me what she could use, to deodorise the house - it smelt like someone had been keeping 100 cats in there (they never owned an animal of any sort). A lot of organisation that had been waiting for so long, finally kicked into place. A retirement home was found for the mother, with nursing home attached for the old man. She could visit him. It was clear he would never walk again - by the time his hip had healed he would have forgotten how. This all involved moving three hours' drive away, there was nothing closer. They never did return home, not even to say goodbye. The mother was finally persuaded to see her husband before she was taken to the retirement hostel. He didn't recognise her. She settled into her new life as if her husband didn't exist. Finally he was well enough to transport although his surgical wound was not healing. She was told he was dying - she didn't want to see him, but they persuaded her. I was at his funeral. She was playing the grieving widow to the hilt - "Did you know my beloved was in my arms when he died? How will I live without him... - can someone pass me another cigarette?" It had always been her coping strategy - denial. It never happened, or it happened the way she wanted to remember it. Today she is very happy. Her cigarettes have gone (it took a lot of effort and constant supervision by staff) and she has only an occasional glass of wine. Her health is closely monitored and someone else cooks her meals. And my friend is still trying to come to terms with all the harm that was done to her, from childhood and onwards. I truly agree, so often the difficult child is the adult in the family. Being caught in a pincer move between difficult child kids and difficult child parents - is it any wonder we're so often walking wounded? Marg [/QUOTE]
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