In June of 1998, my two youngest daughters, Amy (age17) and Emily (age 10) accompanied me as we took the caregiving plunge! We drove to North Carolina in our mini-van that was packed full of essentials for the next few weeks until Randy and our son Benjamin would arrive with the moving truck. They were staying in Brooklyn to tie up some loose ends from our ten years of inner city ministry. Rachel had decided to stay in Brooklyn. 

When I look back, I realize how ill-prepared I was. In a way, I was moving home; yet, the circumstances were completely different from the past. The house – the one I had admired as a child when it belonged to our neighbor, the one I had delighted in the weeks before my wedding – had not seen much interior improvement since 1973. The paint was peeling on almost every wall. The custom drapes in which Mama had taken great pride were threadbare. The appliances that were so new and shiny 25 years previously were wearing out. The bathrooms were badly in need of remodeling. 

The one small window air conditioner in the kitchen did little to alleviate the oppressive summer humidity. Even with the hum of oscillating fans emanating from every room, most of the house – especially the upstairs – was sweltering. 

Our savings were meager. We had no idea when Randy would find another position. Yes, we moved without knowing how we would support our family. We had lived “by faith” for the last fifteen years in the ministry; we trusted God to provide.

The first week seemed like one of our frequent visits. As I observed Daddy trying to take care of himself, I wondered how he had got along without help. I believed we had made the right decision to move in with him. 

The second week the seriousness of this new situation began to sink in. Some days Daddy acted as if he wished we were not there. He was constantly asking what we were doing. Having the girls run up and down the stairs (there was no bathroom upstairs) seemed to annoy him. We tried to fit in with his lifestyle – but one of his habits had to be broken…soon.

Daddy had been using the kitchen sink to brush his false teeth. He would let them soak overnight in a blue plastic container on the countertop. Every morning he would take them out, dump the soaking solution down the drain, and brush them, spitting into the sink.

My daughters were – understandably – grossed out. As compassionately as possible, I explained to him that now that others were sharing his kitchen, it would be best to brush his teeth in the bathroom.

“There’s no place to put them,” he asserted.

And he was right; the old-fashioned wall-mounted sink provided absolutely no room for storage. This was easy to remedy. I made a quick run into town and purchased a small round table that fit perfectly beside the sink. Voila! His dentures had a new home and we had a sanitary kitchen sink.

Unfortunately, every problem was not solved that easily. By week three I was already feeling overwhelmed with the responsibility I had willingly, even excitedly, assumed. Daddy was waking up and wandering around the house every night; he would come into our room (our bedroom was downstairs, next to his) and ask what we were doing. Sometimes he was coherent; other times I was not sure where his mind was taking him.

After living in Brooklyn for ten years, the farm was proving to be a bit of a culture shock for Amy and Emily. I missed Randy, Benjamin and Rachel. I almost fell apart.

Rachel Williamson, a sweet prayer warrior at our church, invited me to a Monday morning prayer time. Leaving Daddy with Amy and Emily, I sought solace in our church parlor. To this day, when I recall going into that room, in my mind’s eye I see myself crawling on all fours. Of course, physically I was not; but emotionally I was on my hands and knees.

I did fall on my knees at one of the velvet sofas, and dear Rachel helped me “pray through.” For a while I wept uncontrollably, and then God – in that still small voice – spoke to my heart. 

He whispered three promises to my broken spirit:

“I will not give you more than you can bear.”

“I will restore the time.”

“I will bless you.”

When I walked out of that parlor, my commitment to serve as Daddy’s caregiver had been renewed. Of course, there were difficult times. Caregiving is physically, emotionally and spiritually challenging. Most worthy endeavors are. 

I returned home that morning inspired to not only provide Daddy with the best care possible, but to enjoy doing it. I appealed to God, “Please give me a year with Daddy!” He was almost ninety years old and with the decline in his health, I wondered if he would even live that long. I wanted to try and make up for the many years I had been far away. 

Soon Randy and Benjamin arrived with our meager belongings (we had down-sized our material possessions before we moved to Brooklyn). We went through the summer with Randy seeking but not finding employment. In September, a good man from church, Sparky Jones, recommended Randy for a position with Child Protective Services where Sparky was employed. Although he had been in the ministry for years, Randy had a degree in sociology and had started out as a probation/parole officer. This was a great opportunity with a good salary and benefits (the first time we had ever had employee-provided insurance). Over twenty years later, Randy still holds that job, although he is now counting down the days to retirement.

In August, Rachel surprised me with a visit on my birthday, but soon returned to Brooklyn where she had met a young man. Amy and Emily had adjusted to their totally different environment. Benjamin had taken leave from his job with IBM in Manhattan to travel to Jerusalem for a three-month mission trip. When he returned, he transferred to IBM in Raleigh. 

Daddy adjusted to having a full house, even seeming to enjoy our company. He accompanied us wherever we went and I regularly took him to visit his friends at their home or in nursing facilities. Some of the outings were difficult; most went well; a few proved ever so entertaining. When we took him with us for a day at the water park in Greensboro, he had his first exposure to modern swimwear. Surveying the hordes of people (un)dressed in their bikinis and Speedos, he queried, “What are all these people doing walking around naked?”

Occasionally, I would run into town on a quick errand, leaving Daddy at home. As I returned one day, I drove over the hill just before our driveway and was shocked to see Daddy standing in the middle of the road. Quickly pulling into the driveway, I ran to Daddy and asked, “What are you doing in the middle of the road?”

“It’s Boyd Wright Road. I can stand in the middle of it if I want to.”

Just as he declared his right to park himself on his namesake road, I heard the rumbling of an approaching vehicle. I looked up to see a propane truck barreling over the hill.

Daddy seemed to grasp the danger because he did not resist when I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the driveway. The thought of what could have happened sickened me. Never again did we leave Daddy home alone.

When we would visit in nursing homes, I was always grateful that God had given me the privilege of taking care of Daddy at home. Even though we got off to a shaky start – in part because I was not prepared and had little knowledge of what it meant to be a caregiver – those three promises God made to me when I called out to Him in prayer that morning carried me through. I knew that Daddy was much happier than he would have been in a nursing home. We shared so many precious times together. 

Soon, I will share some of those memories as well as the things I would have done differently – hindsight, you know. 

But for those who are confronted with the choice of home or facility care for a loved one, here are some thoughts on the perks of home care:

Pleasant Environment: On Monday mornings I teach home school classes to some of my grandchildren. Recently after lessons had been taught and the kids sent home, I poured myself a second cup of tea while peering out the kitchen window. The rain had stopped; the sun was peeking out from fluffy clouds. I listened to the silence – what a beautiful sound. In a facility, the sound of silence is usually punctuated by routine and unavoidable noises: roommates snoring; bed alarms going off; too-loud television blaring from the room of the hard-of-hearing insomniac down the hall; residents calling out; staff performing their duties. 

When a private room is not available or feasible, having a roommate presents its own set of concerns. Inevitably, one person prefers temperatures in the eighties, while the other insists she needs a continuous arctic-like blast from the air conditioner to make her comfortable. One wants the blinds wide open; the other prefers the room dimly lit. Then there’s the scenario of the “dueling televisions.” A small room with two televisions and two very different viewing choices is not just loud but chaotic. Another negative – facilities almost always have single-sized beds which can be a real adjustment for people who have been able to stretch out in larger beds at home. 

Sure, there are some nice facilities, but none can meet the individual needs and desires as well as home care.

Protection of dignity: Some people have no problem with “strangers” providing care of the most personal kind. In facilities, it is not unusual for a patient to have numerous aides. I would be very uncomfortable, especially if the staff person bathing me or providing incontinent care was of the opposite sex. (That’s just me; I had some female patients who preferred having male caregivers!) While guidelines are in place to respect a resident’s privacy, it is impossible to achieve the degree of discretion in a facility that home care provides.

Even at home, assisting with bathing, toileting and dressing may be embarrassing to either or both the caregiver and recipient. Provide as much cover as possible such as placing a towel over the lap while toileting, and if safe, step outside the door until your assistance is needed. When bathing or dressing, look away from private areas when possible. Never undress someone and leave him or her sitting or standing naked; it takes very little effort to discreetly position a towel or sheet for cover-up. Do not provide personal care in the presence of visitors. 

Prevention of social isolation: Even with regular (though not constant) supervision by staff and unlimited visiting hours, a facility can be a lonely place, especially at nighttime and on holidays. I remember embracing one of my patients as she sobbed uncontrollably, relating how her cherished belongings and life-long home were being sold at auction that day “to pay my bills here.” When a loved one is able to remain at home, the familiar surroundings and the company of family members provide a degree of comfort that is hard to attain in a facility. 

Quality of care: Some people express the idea that their loved one can receive better care in a facility. That depends on the degree of skill needed and the willingness of the caregiver to learn. With appropriate training, family caregivers can take care of loved ones with feeding tubes, tracheostomies, and even those requiring dialysis. I have a cousin who provided dialysis care for her husband at home for several years. She shared with me that this had been a “precious” experience for her. 

Although I know many professional caregivers who provide extraordinary care, no one is going to love your family member as much as you do. Truly, there is no place like home.