Don’t speak unless you can improve on the silence. – Spanish proverb
I had been on my mom’s, well, case, for quite a while about how to get dad to drink more fluids. I had idea after idea—put it on his tray instead of on his walker, ask him to choose what he wants to drink, give him a nightcap, change what he called his ‘diaper’ more often, try different temperatures of liquids, use a red plastic cup, his tastes have changed so now he might eat soup, maybe some cider or hot chocolate? What about Jell-O? And salads or coleslaw with dinner, maybe even tomatoes and cucumbers in Italian dressing like she used to do when we were kids. I had dozens of ideas. I even took a nursing class on geriatric hydration!! But to my despair and increasingly bitter disappointment, she was not trying any of them. It had gotten to the point where I would suggest something, and she’d say “Really?” which I knew by her tone simply meant “baloney”. She was not buying it. Or if she was, she certainly was not putting it into practice.
I would complain to my siblings, or the ones that appeared to be listening. They had suggestions of their own. Get more caregiving hours so the caregiver could do it. One sports team uses milk to hydrate. What about chocolate milk? It all came down to how angry I was that dad was still dehydrated and having more frequent syncope episodes. I KNEW he didn’t get enough to drink from dinner time until breakfast around noon the next day. I KNEW it couldn’t be that hard to do some of the things I suggested. I KNEW mom was tired of hearing about it, of having the focus on dad instead of how she was doing. And yet, I continued.
And then I decided to change tactics, thanks to an extremely understanding husband who said Mom was not going to implement my suggestions. She did not want to. Still angry, I had to think about that. Why not? Didn’t she care enough about dad to stop on the way home to get him a milkshake? He hadn’t been out of the house since they came to visit last month. Didn’t he have things he could enjoy, too? The more I thought about it, the redder I got. Darn. She might get the same treatment when she was older. Always making dad out to be the bad guy, the one with the problem, the one who didn’t live up to how he was supposed to stay the same into old age. Damn dementia. But she was not seeing the dementia. She was angry with him. And now I was angry with her.
She told my brother she was getting run down. She told me she was concerned about my dad, which seemed to be diametrically opposed to what she was doing (none of my suggestions). I didn’t get it. I literally didn't get it.
So, I cut off all suggestions. None unless I was asked. I skirted the issue of how much he was drinking, of color, size, and frequency; future doctor visits, caregiver hassles and changes, and what were they going to have for dinner? She was tired of cooking. I shut up about giving suggestions or offering to sign them up for one of those packaged meal clubs that delivered to your door. I became a little less interested in the minutia that had been making me so anxious about dad and how he was doing. Don’t get me wrong, I was still anxious, but I wasn’t going to try to solve anything unless I was asked.
And then I remembered a newspaper clipping she sent me a long time ago. I kept it in my calendar book to remind me, but obviously I wasn’t looking at it often enough. It was a column from Ann Landers. It was a poem a reader, Estelle from Virginia, had sent in that was titled “Listen”. After some checking, I found it was almost identical to a poem by Leo Buscaglia. (Buscaglia L. “Please listen: a poem”. (n.d). Retrieved from https//www.familyaware.org /listen-poem/. Retrieved on November 8, 2019.)
Listen
When I ask you to listen to me,
And you start giving me advice,
You have not done what I asked.
When I ask that you listen to me,
And you begin to tell me why I shouldn’t feel that way,
You are trampling on my feelings.
When I ask you to listen to me,
And you feel you have to do something to solve my problem,
You have failed me, strange as that may seem.
Listen: All that I ask is that you listen,
Not talk or do – just hear me.
When you do something for me
That I need to do for myself,
You contribute to my fear and feelings of inadequacy.
But when you accept as a simple fact
That I do feel what I feel, no matter how irrational,
Then I can quit trying to convince you
And go about the business
Of understanding what’s behind my feelings.
So, please listen and just hear me
And, if you want to talk,
Wait a minute for your turn --- and I’ll listen.
Indeed, I was not listening. What a daily gift I could give my mother!! Just to listen, be a sounding board of sorts. I decided it was worth a try. And believe me, it works. Silence is more than golden: it is supportive and affirming to her struggles and frustration. She wasn’t taking these issues out on me; she was just asking to be heard.
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