By
Marlene Pyle
I’ve learned many things since I began taking care of my 85-year-old
grandmother three years ago. I know which supermarkets offer senior
citizens’ discounts on which days of the week. I know which
drugstore has the most helpful pharmacist, and which beautician will
fix my grandmother’s hair just the way she likes it. But one of the
most important things I’ve learned isn’t really about caring for my
grandmother; it’s about caring for myself. I’ve learned the value
of true friendship.
When my grandmother moved here to Georgia from her home state of
Michigan in order to be nearer to me, I knew my busy life was about
to get busier and more chaotic. I have a full-time job, two
teenagers and (thankfully) a very supportive husband. My plate was
already pretty full.
I had long since given up on finding the time to do volunteer
work, appeasing my pangs of guilt by donating clothing to my local
battered women’s shelter and writing a yearly check to the American
Cancer Society. I quit making excuses for not getting to the gym,
and finally let my membership lapse. I made peace with the fact
that my house may not be immaculate at all times, but is pretty
clean most of the time. But one thing I always made time for was my
girlfriends.
Going out to lunch with the girls was something I looked forward
to. Our shopping trips and movie nights kept me sane. Even if we
just met at the park for a quick walk, I always felt better and more
relaxed after I’d spent time with them.
My grandmother’s arrival changed things. It was difficult for me
to make last-minute plans with my friends, and I often had to cancel
even long-standing dates if my grandmother was ill or had an
appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled. I couldn’t linger on the
phone with my pals as often, and leaving town for more than a day or
two required elaborate arrangements and planning. For the first time
in my life, I found myself buying greeting cards that read “Happy
Belated Birthday.” Weeks or even months would go by when the only
contact I had with some of my friends was a hurried email.
But there was also Paula, who sat me with me in the dingy
hospital waiting room while my grandmother had surgery, and who
spent an entire Saturday helping me paint my grandmother’s bedroom
the perfect shade of yellow. There is Pam, who leaves funny
messages on my voice mail, even though she knows I may not get to
call her back for a while, and who volunteered to take my
grandmother to an appointment when I had a meeting I absolutely
couldn’t miss. What would I do without them? I don’t even want to
know. As the song goes, I get by with a little help from my
friends.
My grandmother’s taught me a lot over the years. My friends
have taught me even more.
Marlene is a freelance writer, who lives, works
and tries to see her friends in Calhoun, Georgia. In addition to
caring for her 85-year-old grandmother, she has a full-time job, a
very patient husband, two teenagers, three grown step-children, and
a black lab named Lucky.
Printable Version
