By Steve Moran

For the past 3 weeks I have been the nearly sole caregiver for two people with significant needs. My almost 92-year-old stepfather, Gary (more about him in a few moments), and my wife, who recently had hip replacement surgery.

In one sense, the caregiving burden is getting better because my wife’s post-op recovery is going well. She is up out of bed, mostly off pain meds, and transitioning from a walker to a cane.

But for the first two weeks it was all up to me. Everything my wife needed I was responsible for. I had to be there to help her to and from the bathroom. I had to help with dressing. I had to help with bathing. It was my job to do the laundry, fix meals, and do the shopping (I know some of you are going to say, “Welcome to being a wife and mother”). At the same time, I still have a business to run. This is not a complaint. It is an act of love. I am actually delighted to be here, to be able to do what needs to be done. It is simply a description of this stage of life.

But … it is emotionally exhausting (maybe a little physically, but for me, mostly emotional).

Alive or Dead

It is very different with my stepfather. He is rapidly sliding into his last days, weeks, or months … it is impossible to tell.

Each morning I peek into his room, never sure whether I will find him alive or dead.

He is sleeping 16-20 hours a day. Walking from his bedroom to the kitchen — maybe 30 or 40 feet — leaves him out of breath.

Last night he was eating dinner and I was unloading the dishwasher; he asked me if I had talked to Steve recently. I asked if he meant my brother. Nope, he meant Steve. I explained that I was Steve. He was slightly embarrassed and asked about another friend.

It is emotionally exhausting …

Living It

As senior living leaders, each day you walk this journey with residents and family members. You do it with profound empathy, grace, and compassion. As someone who is not in the trenches doing the work but who lives, sleeps, and breathes senior living, intellectually not a single part of my journey is a surprise.

But living it is completely different than knowing about it.

The Guilt

I might be unique in this, but I don’t think so … the worst part is the guilt and helplessness. I look at Gary, and while I dread finding his lifeless corpse, I confess that finding him gone would bring a certain sense of relief that the carrying of this burden would be over.

Mostly, though, I find myself feeling like I should be doing more, doing something, taking some action to make it better. Though intellectually I know I am doing all I can, all anyone can.

I also know that as these things go, I have it pretty good. He is in good spirits; he is not angry or lashing out. Paying for care is not a problem, no matter what he needs. We don’t have family members fighting over how to manage care or over money.

I have a wife who is traveling this journey with me, and we are aligned about the path we are taking.

I am Getting Old

This process has forced me to think about my own journey.

I turned 70 several weeks ago. In 10 years I will be 80, and even with all the medical advances, 80 is old, older than average. My wife is several years older than me, and so 80 is a lot closer for her.

I have good genes. I continue to get lots of exercise, walking/running 10,000 steps 6 or 7 days a week. I might make it to 90 or even beyond, but a time is coming when I will either die or need lots of care.

I think a lot about what that will be like for me and what that will be like for my kids, in particular my daughter, who is likely to be the primary caregiver. I don’t want my getting old to be like my stepfather’s getting old. I want to do it better for me and for my kids.

How I plan to do it better will be the subject of another article.