Guilt
is a powerful word for being such a short one. It is a word I hear almost every
day either from an adult child, a spouse, or a resident.
Guilt
often seems to supersede all other emotions. Despite the fact that adult children are juggling many things
in their lives to satisfy a parent, the children still feel guilty because, in
their minds, they are still not doing enough. Many residents feel the same because they believe their
children are doing too much to make them happy. Of course, there is the other extreme; the parent who blames
their children for “putting” them in a community and is therefore determined to
make their children suffer for it.
I
once had a resident whose son moved her in and out of every community in the
city. He was trying so hard to
please her that he would relocate her each time she became dissatisfied with the
community she was living in. He
had recently remarried, and his guilt stemmed from his inability to take care
of his mother at home. He was a loving and faithful son; he was convinced that
he was doing the right thing by moving his mom, Marion, at her whim. When
Marion became dissatisfied, he dutifully packed her belongings, paid the extra
entrance fee, and settled her into a new apartment in a neighboring community.
This happened on average twice a year. It was inevitable that after a few years
he ran out of nearby places to take her.
My
community had been one of the stops on her list. Marion was a cantankerous old lady who was never satisfied.
She complained that she didn’t receive appropriate care, and she grumbled that
the food was uneatable. She groused over the color of the carpet in her
apartment, she threatened to sue if the care staff was not at her beck and
call; she criticized anything and everything that came to mind. It was not surprising that the staff
soon became resentful. They avoided her when they could and despite their
commitment to customer service, they had a hard time responding graciously to
her nasty behavior.
I
spent a lot of time with Marion, defusing the outbursts she had with our care
aids and wait staff – hoping my patience and kindness would convince her that
we had her best interest in mind.
I was somewhat successful, and she did eventually trust me. But, I was unable to keep her from manipulating
her son, and eventually she gave me her thirty- day notice.
I
tried speaking to her son Kevin. He was extremely friendly, obviously
intelligent, but it was impossible to penetrate his denial concerning her
behavior. I needed him to join our
team and to work with us. I beseeched
him to stop responding to her constant whining and support us in our attempts
to please her. My employees were dancing in circles hoping to win her
affection, but he refused to admit that his mother’s e behavior was excessively
unfair. His guilt was so all
pervasive that it clouded his decisions.
Several
months after Kevin moved his Mom, I heard through an associate that Marion had
been sent to the hospital and would not return to the community where she was
presently living. Strangely
enough, not sure what prompted me, I called Kevin. “Marion can come back and live with us again,” I offered. His silence betrayed his surprise, and
after a few seconds he said, his voice somewhat choked “I will ask her.”
Despite
the protests from my staff, Marion returned. Her new apartment was near my
office, so I visited regularly. We
became close friends. She had softened somewhat, although her exterior remained
hard and tough. She even thanked
me for taking her back. “I didn’t
think anyone liked me,” she admitted. “We didn’t,” I told her candidly. “I just felt that, despite what you
thought of us, we did a better job of caring for you than our competitors. You are entitled to good care, despite
your attitude. “
Soon
after her return, her health declined. After only a few weeks, our nurse
admitted her to Hospice. She died
in our community.
I
had one last conversation with Kevin. He still harbored the guilt. He admitted
how sorry he was that he had not stood up to his mom. He regretted that he
succumbed to her constant nagging. He realized his willingness to move her so
frequently made it impossible for her to make friends or become a member of an
assisted living family. “When
I told Marion you wanted her back,” he admitted, “she cried. She couldn’t believe that someone
actually would tolerate her enough to invite her to return.”
“Your
Mom was tough,” I answered. “She
wanted you to prove your love for her by focusing on her and giving her your
full attention. The only way she could do that was to manipulate your time
and energy. She coerced you to
pack her things and move them again and again. She knew how to push your buttons.”
“I
didn’t know what else to do; I wanted to make her happy,” he said regretfully.
“And
did you?” I asked.
“No,”
he said sadly.
