Depression was something I never saw my mother exhibit until I became a live-in caregiver. She’s a lot better than I ever realized at putting on a happy face regardless of how she really feels, which is a common trait exhibited by those from the “silent generation”. While exactly where the term “silent generation” came from is often a topic of debate, people in this age group often hold to certain standards of behavior. One of the defining attributes from this generation was a silent acceptance of their situation, working quietly to sustain an acceptable standard of living. Behavior such as not “airing your dirty laundry” is something she holds fast to, and regardless of how she feels, my mother wants everyone to have the impression that all is well in her world. I remember when that was all that I was allowed to see, back when we only spent time together a few times a week. Now that I live with her, I see much deeper into her world.
On some mornings, she wakes up with a smile and offers me a pleasant greeting – but on most mornings, she’s quiet and stays to herself and it’s only engaging her in conversation that reveals how she is feeling. Sometimes she’ll attach to something that makes her angry – sometimes me, sometimes Donald Trump, and sometimes it’s as simple as the weather. The rest of the time, her depression creeps through and she talks about how dismal her life has become. Most of these conversations involve her repeating a well-practiced phrase that she says all too frequently, “Life just isn’t worth living when you can’t do anything for yourself anymore.”
Over the last few years, she has completely disconnected from family style holiday events – citing the reason holidays just don’t hold any interest for her any more. But I think that it’s actually because they are too busy for her. Family visits at the house are always great, but I’m learning that she does best when it’s limited to one or two visitors. Beyond that, she can quickly be overwhelmed in a lively conversation and can get to a point where she just nods, smiles and laughs, trying to look engaged – but when she sees that a reply is expected her response is typically, “What? Sorry, I didn’t hear…”
My mother has two sisters in the area and both have caring daughters who frequently take all the sisters out to coffee or a group lunch. Once a week and sometimes twice, she gets to go out to a shared event where they can talk and laugh about old times. It’s these events that give her something to look forward to, and help her get outside of the house, even if it’s just for a while.
As caregivers, we want to do all we can to help our loved ones avoid the pitfalls of elderly depression. I’m starting to understand that simply offering something to look forward to has a very therapeutic impact. Since my mother suffers from dementia, it actually offers the opportunity to make plans several times for the same event. She loves to go shopping at the thrift store, so I’ll suggest a trip on the next 50% off day, which she almost always agrees to. We’ll talk about what time of day we can go and she’ll think about what kinds of things she can look for when she’s there. Each day that passes we make our plans all over again, sometimes a few times in a single day, and each time it brings her a few minutes of joy.
One of my bigger challenges is putting aside my own feelings and focusing on her needs. This has become slightly less difficult as I’ve started to develop a better understanding of the fact that her behaviors and attitudes are driven by the dementia and don’t really represent who my mother is. I am working to make it my standard behavior to let harsh treatment pass unacknowledged, rather returning a kind word and a gentle smile. This can quickly defuse what would otherwise be a tense situation and instead create a doorway to a pleasant exchange. Pleasant distractions and a happy home environment are the tools I have developed so far, but I hope to add more tools to my toolbox as we go. I look forward to each of you sharing your own comments, suggestions and personal stories.
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