We’re all getting shorter too.
Our Parents’ Financial, Health,
Legal, Spiritual, and Other Issues
I made a series of trips to New York that first year I was POParenting Lillian and Jack. Much of my agenda during those visits was to gather information I would need to help them feel and become safer, now that I was “on board.” Like most things POP, it took longer than I’d anticipated to get the information from my folks and then to follow through with whatever else was needed.
When I arrived at their apartment on any day of such inquiry, I’d immediately be struck by the fact that my parents did everything substantially slower than I did. They thought slower, moved slower, decided things slower than most people my age did. Their experience of time and ability to focus were also different from mine. I saw that I’d need to take lots of deep breaths and literally slow down so that the sheer force of my energy and the speed with which I ordinarily operated didn’t overwhelm my parents.
I would show up in the morning, ready to get down to it but my parents might or might not be ready for me or for the next task on my list. I was learning from my parents, just as we learn from our children how to most effectively parent them. I soon discovered I’d need to speak more slowly, perhaps with more volume, to repeat myself, to make sure they understood what I was asking. Most of all, I’d have to become more patient. That couldn’t be bad.
My ultimate goal in gathering all this information was to create additional security for my declining parents, whether that was physical, legal, or financial security. Making them safe seemed relatively straightforward when I was having grab bars installed in their bathrooms. It wasn’t always so easy to figure out other ways to keep them safe.
Making my parents safe required me to review each document and decision, one at a time. It also involved asking them endless questions, prying through years of well-worn papers, and generally intruding into their lives. I had not lived with my parents in over thirty years and, even with me, my parents were private people. Whenever they’d gone to others instead of asking for my legal advice over the years, I’d tried not to take it personally. Given what I was unearthing in some of their documents, I could see that keeping me uninformed had not been their best choice.
My asking them questions, digging up old memories, reviewing their past decisions, and opening tens of boxes full of papers was bound to be emotionally triggering for all of us. I saw how Mom’s cognitive limitations were adding to her emotional challenges. She would try to maintain her focus and to recall answers, or she would compensate by making up an answer, revealing the limitations she was all the while trying to hide from herself and me.
Over time, the process got a little easier. But the first day of doing this inquiry was one of the hardest for me. There would be other very demanding days to come—like their accidents leading to hospitalizations or the day I put Dad on hospice or when I couldn’t find a mental facility that would accept Mom. But in the Wolf family saga, the toughest days seemed to be when one of my parents interpreted an event as symbolizing the loss of control over life. Usually that resulted in a panicky parent, and almost always that was Mom.
Lillian turned out to be much tougher to POParent than Jack. During her twenties, she’d occupied important positions that demanded great organizational skill, and she was naturally obsessive. As a result, she’d become the “designated domestic organizer” at our house. Mom’s bedroom closet was the repository for their most important records. She came from the rubber-band school of organizing. That is, papers were bound together by rubber bands, some worn and stretched out, and others pristine. I’d ask, “How much do you and Dad receive from Social Security each month?” Mom would direct me first to the closet, then to a box, and then to the particular packet of papers. I’d have to bring it out and, in front of her, unwrap the rubber band, read the papers, and take any notes I needed. Then she needed me to wrap the rubber band around the packet of papers again and return them to the box in the closet before returning to her for my next inquiry. We would have to go through this process for each question I posed.
When it felt to Lillian like her whole life was swirling out of her control, she did what most people do when they feel helpless. She drew a line in the sand: No one messes with my rubber band system! It went this way for hours and hours. On the outside, I was the most patient person ever, but on the inside, I was a mess. I tried to be kind and understanding. I even introduced self-talk and thought about how challenging it must have been parenting me. But as soon as I could “safely” leave that first day of questioning them, I ran the short block to a cafe, where I focused exclusively on a frosty margarita, actually several.
The problem really was with me, not Mom, I soon saw. She’d been well organized her whole life, and my being there now, intruding on her privacy and upsetting her system with my demands must have deeply upset her and compromised her sense of order and control. As I mulled over the thought that she wasn’t just trying to be difficult, I was able to muster more understanding. And more patience.
During January and February of 1998, the bitterest of months in the Northeast, I made
four brief visits to New York, flying back and forth across our wide, three-time-zoned
continent to be there for my parents. I remember feeling dislocated on both coasts.
Even before leaving home for one of those body-bruising three- or four-day trips,
I would spend hours rescheduling my patient
appointments and other events. I had to book travel and even lodging, since it had
become clear I couldn’t stay in my parents’ overcrowded and cluttered space.
On those occasions I would leave home early in the Pacific morning when it was still dark, hoping the taxi horn didn’t wake my neighbors. By the time I would arrive in New York, it would be dark, and I would be tired, achy from the plane ride, and pretty useless. Although the airlines call it a five-and-a-half-hour flight, it never took me less than nine hours to go between my L.A. home and my hotel in the Big Apple. I also had decided to delay my own much-needed foot surgery while taking care of this phase of POParenting. Thus, I had to endure painful hikes down long airport corridors, dragging my carry-on and occasionally limping, which didn’t make my treks any easier. By the fourth trip, I began to be a bit concerned for my own well-being. I wasn’t getting any younger, either. I was also feeling “dislocated” mentally, pulled in many different directions, as new parents sometimes describe.
I had liked my life before, and even though I’d made the choice to do POP, I was still reluctant to fully accept the bicoastal life and the other adaptations I had to make. One of the most helpful insights I had about my own resistance during this part of our POPcycle was this: It wasn’t useful to bemoan the loss of “my life”; it was better to embrace my expanding into a bigger life, which included POP. “My life” and even my view of myself needed to be large enough to include Jack and Lillian as a priority. Sometimes they were the greatest priority. In making these trips to POParent them, I was beginning to prioritize my parents’ needs over my patients’ needs.
I wondered about the long-term effects POParenting Jack and Lillian would have on my new practice, my income, my psyche, and other parts of my life. Only on occasion would I allow myself to muse upon the unknown unknowns. Most of the time, having made the POP commitment, I turned to my next step and kept on going. There was always so much to do.
You too, will have to get past whatever initial reluctance you might have to ask your parents the most personal of questions. If you have siblings, this is a perfect time to divide up different parts of the POP “inquiry” job. Each of you can take charge of one or two areas. If you have some delicacy about money but your sister Sally, the accountant, has none, she’s likely the better one to get your parents’ answers about their investments, income, and expenditures and, later, to locate, organize, and evaluate their financial issues.
If Sally is unavailable, has long-standing emotional problems with your parents, lives abroad or for some other good reason, is not the optimal choice to lead that inquiry, you may need to use slightly different approaches. Your parents may have forgotten much, and that can’t feel good to them, or you. Your reminding them of things from their past might result in sadness or even giggling. You’ll be asking them a lot of questions, and if your parents are over eighty-five (part of the “frail elderly”), one or both of them may have little left of their short-term memory. Statistically one in two Americans have some form of dementia at this age. All this may generate much confusion, and your parents may just shut down.
None of us has limitless resources. Your patience and good humor will last longer if you lower your expectations of what you can get accomplished each time you’re with them. You must stay focused. It helps for you to come there with your agenda ready, but even so, they may not be in the mood. It’s likely you’ll have a great deal to unearth at your parents’ home, and perhaps, like me, a job, a family, and other responsibilities to return to. But you will want to be thorough and not discover later on that you forgot to look at the important boxes in the garage. The questions you don’t get answered may rise again to haunt you another day.
Asking your parents the most personal and prying of questions takes courage. You may be way outside your comfort zone. You may be way outside their comfort zone too. You will need to ask and sometimes even pursue your parents for information they may not remember or want you to know. They may even become oppositional and refuse to grant you access to their secrets. Here’s where you may find yourself face-to-face with the POParenting “role reversal,” as you pursue with courage, patience, and determination the answers appropriate for a POParent to know.
You may be afraid they will get angry with you or feel offended. Maybe they will. Now is the time you can assure them with kindness that doing this is odd for you too. Instead of interrogating them about topics you’ve never talked about together, remind them (and yourself) that your concern is for their welfare and their future. You simply wish to help; you’re not there to judge them. You might even ask them to be understanding with you. You can remind them that you are on a learning curve and you’ll get more comfortable and confident as time goes by.
Remember, too, that it is you who can set—and should set—the right tone for these conversations. You are not cross-examining guilty prisoners; these are your parents.
Brace yourself for the fact that much of their paperwork may not be in shipshape condition. Perhaps your parents haven’t been thinking very far ahead. Your questions can help them face up to important issues, think through, and then effectuate a better resolution of those—with you as a guide. Your parents may be feeling embarrassed to have you discover their unpaid insurance premiums, unopened bills, how much money they have, or the quantity of stored newspapers they’re hoarding. You will want to be the calm and patient one, the understanding parent you always wanted to have when you were growing up. You’ll want to keep your voice loud enough so they can hear your questions but not sound harsh or angry if you have to repeat yourself to be heard or comprehended.
If you’re one of the fortunate POParents not facing the kind of drama or trauma that I did, benefiting from my story, you can have your initial conversations with your folks sufficiently early to understand what will be needed and do your research in a more relaxed manner. You can be better prepared than I was. You can take time to evaluate their home for its safety, help your parents draw up the most useful legal documents, meet with their doctors early on to prevent or slow the onset of certain geriatric conditions, and discover resources before your POP emergency or crisis arises.