Dying is a very dull, dreary affair,
and my advice to you is to have nothing to do with it.

W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

During this time I began to receive invitations to speak at conferences for health-care providers at hospitals and nursing homes. I eagerly accepted, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that some were government-subsidized conferences and offered more than an honorarium of mileage and a T-shirt. I counted it an honor and found these unheralded servants ripe for laughter. I also found them exhausted. One lady told me, I’m so tired I fall into bed at night and I don’t have the energy to use the Clapper.” And so I tell them of the message a friend of mine has on his answering machine:

Hello, and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline. If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 immediately. If you are co-dependent, please ask someone else to press 2. If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6. If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call. If you are depressed, it doesn’t matter which number you push. No one will answer.

The health-care professionals laugh quite heartily at this, and then I tell them the sad reality—that this is the kind of answer many people receive when they’re in need. But how I thank God that no one gets that kind of answer from them, that they walk in when others walk out.

They seem to like this, so I keep going. I tell them of the battles I’ve faced steering a family through Huntington’s disease and epilepsy and a few other icebergs. And I tell them some of the things I’ve learned that have kept me relatively sane and well adjusted when life threatens to poke holes in my hull:

Laugh a little each day. Before I was born, my dad worked in a psychiatric ward in Quebec, Canada. I don’t remember much about it, but Mom claims he would come home at night and describe some of the sad events of the day, often interspersing his dialogue with a good belly laugh. She couldn’t believe it at first, but it was his way of finding the pulse of sanity in a dark place.

I find myself doing the same now in caring for my father. One summer day while I was visiting the hospital, a lady who serves as part-time chaplain pulled me aside. Her forehead was scrunched up, and I wondered what awful thing my father had done or said. “You told me he had been faithful to your mother for sixty years,” she said, still scrunching. “Today he was watching TV and holding hands with a complete stranger.” Of course I laughed. So did she. Sure, we cry and we pray, but sometimes laughter is our most effective weapon—perhaps the only one we have. And it sure beats oat bran.

Find a confidant. Miles Franklin said, “Someone to tell it to is one of the fundamental needs of human beings.” You don’t need to give everyone you meet an organ recital, but who can put a price tag on the value of sharing his story, thoughts, feelings, and sometimes tears with a trusted other?

Some communities have caregiver support groups. If you can’t find one, start one. If you can’t start one, get a pet. Sometimes my dog is my support group. She’s the only one who will listen without interrupting. It’s like the old Swedish proverb: “Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”

Carve hurry from your life. I wish someone had informed me earlier that there is nothing noble about a nervous breakdown and nothing selfish about taking care of your own needs. When I discovered that “no” is a complete sentence, I freed time for pursuing my gifts. When I learned to enjoy things without owning them, I forgot about the Joneses. When I began hanging out with positive people, I topped off my energy tank. When I began taking care of myself, I found I was better equipped to take good care of others. Stillness is rejuvenating. Sometimes the most pressing thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest.

Exercise three times a week. Bodily exercise profits a little. Of course, it didn’t help my mother. She started walking a mile a day when she was sixty. She’s eighty-three now and we don’t know where she is.

Enjoy the right food and take longer to eat it. My philosophy on eating is the same as Miss Piggy’s: Never eat more than you can lift. But middle age informs me that my philosophy is flawed. Pants that fit last Thursday are malfunctioning. So I need to acquaint myself with salmon, tomatoes, broccoli, nuts, and blueberries. And never pass up an opportunity to savor dessert. A recent study conducted by the dark chocolate industry indicates that dark chocolate is good for you.

Run away from home. Find a way to get away. If the budget is low, develop a great imagination. Close your eyes and imagine that your bath is at a spa in the Himalayas—without the monkeys. Never just listen to your favorite music. Pretend you’re at a concert, or giving one. When you can’t take what you’ve been taking any longer, take a vacation.

Take care of the home front. Who we are and what we are able to accomplish come directly from the foundations we build. So work on your relationships inside your tightest circles. Those of us who care for aging parents must not forget our own children.

Worry less. Worry steals everything worthwhile from today and adds nothing worthwhile to tomorrow. Worried people see problems; concerned people find solutions.

Remember you’re more amazing than you think. In a selfish age, those who care for others make God smile. So never underestimate the power of a kind word, a touch, a smile, a tear, or a compliment. You are the answer to someone’s prayer. Be assured that there will be resistance, but the rewards are out of this world.

Go looking for the blessings. Don’t worry, you’ll find them. They’re everywhere.