Friday, March 2, 2007
Last night Mom and I watched...
...Rain Man. This is a movie that we've watched so many times I thought we owned it. Thus, when I noticed it was coming up in 15 minutes on TCM, I mentioned it to Mom and rifled through our movie collection cabinets to queue to movie from DVD so, in case Mom decided to comment through it (this is one of those movies that connects her with her past as a special ed teacher and educational administrator), we could pause it, talk, rewind and continue watching it. I was surprised to find that I've never purchased a copy. I'll be looking for one, since, at the end of the movie Mom assumed we owned it and replied, when I told her we didn't, "We should." She's right.
I've always considered this movie more a display of the condition of the autistic savant and a "brother" movie in which old injuries that prevented a relationship are patched and healed. At the point in the movie, though, when Charlie and Raymond Babbitt are at their first road trip restaurant for a pancake breakfast after a mild but eye-opening night of adjustment in a motel, when what seems like a Pandora's box of further autistic savant behaviors begins to spill over and Charlie begins to show the stress of handling Raymond, my mother commented, with equal parts perplexity and intrigue, "It's like taking care of a child!"
Without thoughtful pause, I immediately corrected, "No, Mom. A normal child is adjustable, changes, develops into the kind of adult we expect people to become. It's actually like taking care of an elderly demented parent."
Mom was sitting in her rocker. I was sprawled on the floor to her left, thus, she was only in my peripheral vision. I noticed, while continuing to attend to the movie, which required an intensity not solicited when we watch DVD's, since, with a DVD, I know I can "go back" if I miss something while I prowl the house doing minor chores neglected earlier in the day, that Mom sharpened her sights on me for more than a moment in response, then returned her attention to the movie. Although her expression was placid, I knew that she was processing a foggy connection between what I'd just said and my presence in her life. Suddenly, I realized, this is another of those subtle caregiving movies that can, if we choose to recognize it as such, increase our understanding of and empathy for those who play out the caregiving role for loved ones who are Ancient and/or Infirm...but, since we don't readily identify with this kind of caregiving, at least in this culture, we, rather, try to avoid it, this is lost on us.
I thought about how Proof is not, in the literature, identified as a caregiver movie...nor is Magnolia, nor, astonishingly, is Marvin's Room. The funny thing is, you don't even have to think deeply to catch the caregiver facets of each of these movies. I think our blinders are that we aren't interested in identifying ourselves as caregivers to other than our children until we are thrust into the position. Too bad. It is that element of the surprise thrust that renders so much of caregiving so unpleasant, and, I think, ultimately undesirable for most of us.
Yet, caregiving is exactly that with which Charlie Babbitt finds himself coming to terms: The shock; the denial; the frustration; the lashing out; the refusal to accept; then, the slow process of putting oneself aside and observing the care recipient; noticing that not everything about the recipient is "retarded" or frustrating; allowing a sense of appreciation for the care recipient to develop; becoming attached to the recipient beyond expectations; realizing aspects of the recipient's character and abilities that were not previously discovered by prior caregivers, especially professionals; lobbying on behalf of these aspects; falling in love with the care recipient; and, finally, making a clear, informed determination about whether being the recipient's primary caregiver is a good idea.
In addition, the movie addresses, "What's in it for the caregiver?" Admittedly, Rain Man focuses on this using a heavy handed device: Charlie's need for money, lots of it, and his desperate frustration when he discovers that his father has left him nothing that he can readily turn into the cash he needs to save his business. Thus, when he discovers Raymond's existence, his initial desire to become Raymond's caregiver has nothing to do with Raymond and everything to do with the benefits which he imagines will accrue to him. No matter. Movies are expected to use such ungloved, iron fisted devices. I doubt, though, that there is a caregiver alive, no matter how little or much involved she is in her care recipient's life, who assents to caregiving without considering the benefits to self. Nor is there a person related to a caregiver alive who doesn't, at some point, wonder what the caregiver could possibly be getting from the experience and even suspect, often erroneously, that the reward must monetary or in the form of gaining control of the recipient's assets. Rarely, though, does an intense needs caregiver do it for the money. Often, we never consider why we're doing it, what's in it for us. Despite the fact that I've been doing this for over thirteen years, I hadn't considered this until last night.
Why, after six months of waffling, did I decide to assent to my mother's request? I remember, in one of my introductory essays written many years ago, mentioning that doing this was made easier by the fact that my employment history, while full, has also been eclectic because, while I'm an easy employee to manage and usually a stellar employee, I'm not an employee who is easily satisfied with the treatment employers load upon their employees. It was easier, and much more interesting and edifying, for me to travel from company to company, position to position, first as a permanent temp, then a self-employeed contractor. Yet, when I began my sojourn with my mother, I immediately sought full time employment and found it so difficult, two and a half years later, to become my mother's full time companion that I avoided this by remaining employed in the world of commerce longer, probably, than I should have while my mother was drowning in fairly constant sleep.
It was hard for me to acknowledge and embrace the requirements of being my mother's full time companion and life-manager. Even when I did, it took a couple of years for me to stop refusing to completely take over the business of her life and yet a couple more years before I stopped refusing to manage her medical care. In each case, I refrained from doing so until my mother was teetering on the edge of disaster but wasn't aware that she was.
I'm still, today, having a hard time figuring out what I initially thought was in it for me. The only benefit I can so far identify is that I was unwilling to allow my mother to become a stranger to me and did what I needed to do to keep that from happening. Over the decades we had kept up such a close, multi-faceted relationship, despite my constant traveling, that the thought of having her dwindle, alone, against her will (which will was obviously expressed in her request that I live with her for the rest of her life) was simply not a thought I could entertain. Truth is, I cringe when I think of this. It makes me sound like some kind of saint and, believe me, I'm far from saintly. I wouldn't even want to aspire to such status. My motives certainly weren't as mercenary as Charlie Babbitt's, but I'm sure they weren't, as well, completely selfless.
I do, though, know why I'm still here, and, oddly, it's for exactly the same reason, above, I suspect I assented to do this, with the following trimmings:
What's especially interesting about Rain Man as a movie about caregivers is that Charlie Babbitt decides it is not in his own or Raymond's best interest to continue as his brother's caregiver. As he relinquishes his brother into the hands of his usual caregivers, though, he insists that the discoveries he's made about his brother have been overlooked by those who've been caring for him for decades. There is also a hint that Charlie will remain in touch with his brother in part to make sure that those who care for him are reminded that even Raymond is capable of evolving. He's right about this, and, luckily, Raymond's professional caregivers take note. This is an idealized and felicitous version of what professional caregiving could be with regular, refreshing oversight by family members. There are, it should be said, many who do this. Our professional facility staffs members, though, are only just beginning to consider that family members who regularly visit professionally placed charges are more than interlopers with whom they must negotiate in order to give all appearances (true or not) that care recipients are receiving the care their relatives expect and make sure no one expects anything more than that for which adequate payment has been received. Rain Man does not hesitate to make the point that "Wallbrook" (I believe I'm remembering the name of the facility correctly) is one of the best, if not the best, of such facilities "in the country" and is careful to establish the dead father as a very rich man who set up a hefty trust to handle the cost of Raymond's excellent care. This movie was initially released in 1988. Funny how things haven't changed much since then in the professional care business!
So, hmmm...fanciful, really, and thought provoking, to be a caregiver and watch movies from the caregiver's perspective. Amazing what one notices, and amazing, as well, what we don't notice.
I've always considered this movie more a display of the condition of the autistic savant and a "brother" movie in which old injuries that prevented a relationship are patched and healed. At the point in the movie, though, when Charlie and Raymond Babbitt are at their first road trip restaurant for a pancake breakfast after a mild but eye-opening night of adjustment in a motel, when what seems like a Pandora's box of further autistic savant behaviors begins to spill over and Charlie begins to show the stress of handling Raymond, my mother commented, with equal parts perplexity and intrigue, "It's like taking care of a child!"
Without thoughtful pause, I immediately corrected, "No, Mom. A normal child is adjustable, changes, develops into the kind of adult we expect people to become. It's actually like taking care of an elderly demented parent."
Mom was sitting in her rocker. I was sprawled on the floor to her left, thus, she was only in my peripheral vision. I noticed, while continuing to attend to the movie, which required an intensity not solicited when we watch DVD's, since, with a DVD, I know I can "go back" if I miss something while I prowl the house doing minor chores neglected earlier in the day, that Mom sharpened her sights on me for more than a moment in response, then returned her attention to the movie. Although her expression was placid, I knew that she was processing a foggy connection between what I'd just said and my presence in her life. Suddenly, I realized, this is another of those subtle caregiving movies that can, if we choose to recognize it as such, increase our understanding of and empathy for those who play out the caregiving role for loved ones who are Ancient and/or Infirm...but, since we don't readily identify with this kind of caregiving, at least in this culture, we, rather, try to avoid it, this is lost on us.
I thought about how Proof is not, in the literature, identified as a caregiver movie...nor is Magnolia, nor, astonishingly, is Marvin's Room. The funny thing is, you don't even have to think deeply to catch the caregiver facets of each of these movies. I think our blinders are that we aren't interested in identifying ourselves as caregivers to other than our children until we are thrust into the position. Too bad. It is that element of the surprise thrust that renders so much of caregiving so unpleasant, and, I think, ultimately undesirable for most of us.
Yet, caregiving is exactly that with which Charlie Babbitt finds himself coming to terms: The shock; the denial; the frustration; the lashing out; the refusal to accept; then, the slow process of putting oneself aside and observing the care recipient; noticing that not everything about the recipient is "retarded" or frustrating; allowing a sense of appreciation for the care recipient to develop; becoming attached to the recipient beyond expectations; realizing aspects of the recipient's character and abilities that were not previously discovered by prior caregivers, especially professionals; lobbying on behalf of these aspects; falling in love with the care recipient; and, finally, making a clear, informed determination about whether being the recipient's primary caregiver is a good idea.
In addition, the movie addresses, "What's in it for the caregiver?" Admittedly, Rain Man focuses on this using a heavy handed device: Charlie's need for money, lots of it, and his desperate frustration when he discovers that his father has left him nothing that he can readily turn into the cash he needs to save his business. Thus, when he discovers Raymond's existence, his initial desire to become Raymond's caregiver has nothing to do with Raymond and everything to do with the benefits which he imagines will accrue to him. No matter. Movies are expected to use such ungloved, iron fisted devices. I doubt, though, that there is a caregiver alive, no matter how little or much involved she is in her care recipient's life, who assents to caregiving without considering the benefits to self. Nor is there a person related to a caregiver alive who doesn't, at some point, wonder what the caregiver could possibly be getting from the experience and even suspect, often erroneously, that the reward must monetary or in the form of gaining control of the recipient's assets. Rarely, though, does an intense needs caregiver do it for the money. Often, we never consider why we're doing it, what's in it for us. Despite the fact that I've been doing this for over thirteen years, I hadn't considered this until last night.
Why, after six months of waffling, did I decide to assent to my mother's request? I remember, in one of my introductory essays written many years ago, mentioning that doing this was made easier by the fact that my employment history, while full, has also been eclectic because, while I'm an easy employee to manage and usually a stellar employee, I'm not an employee who is easily satisfied with the treatment employers load upon their employees. It was easier, and much more interesting and edifying, for me to travel from company to company, position to position, first as a permanent temp, then a self-employeed contractor. Yet, when I began my sojourn with my mother, I immediately sought full time employment and found it so difficult, two and a half years later, to become my mother's full time companion that I avoided this by remaining employed in the world of commerce longer, probably, than I should have while my mother was drowning in fairly constant sleep.
It was hard for me to acknowledge and embrace the requirements of being my mother's full time companion and life-manager. Even when I did, it took a couple of years for me to stop refusing to completely take over the business of her life and yet a couple more years before I stopped refusing to manage her medical care. In each case, I refrained from doing so until my mother was teetering on the edge of disaster but wasn't aware that she was.
I'm still, today, having a hard time figuring out what I initially thought was in it for me. The only benefit I can so far identify is that I was unwilling to allow my mother to become a stranger to me and did what I needed to do to keep that from happening. Over the decades we had kept up such a close, multi-faceted relationship, despite my constant traveling, that the thought of having her dwindle, alone, against her will (which will was obviously expressed in her request that I live with her for the rest of her life) was simply not a thought I could entertain. Truth is, I cringe when I think of this. It makes me sound like some kind of saint and, believe me, I'm far from saintly. I wouldn't even want to aspire to such status. My motives certainly weren't as mercenary as Charlie Babbitt's, but I'm sure they weren't, as well, completely selfless.
I do, though, know why I'm still here, and, oddly, it's for exactly the same reason, above, I suspect I assented to do this, with the following trimmings:
- I know what I'm doing and have arrived at a level of confidence and competence that rivals that of my performance in any job in which I was ever employed in the world of commerce;
- I'm inspired by what I've discovered in myself, my mother and the world we inhabit as we've journeyed together. I await, with excited anticipation, further surprising discoveries. This, in fact, is one of my primary desires in life: To be in a position to continually discover, discover, discover, consider, consider, consider, create, create, create, and surprise myself over and over;
- I like that I'm in a position of being "off the radar", so to speak, as far as the rest of my society and culture is concerned, because,
- One of my primary interests and joys is to turn my own attention and that of others to areas of life that have escaped consideration but seem to me to need it.
What's especially interesting about Rain Man as a movie about caregivers is that Charlie Babbitt decides it is not in his own or Raymond's best interest to continue as his brother's caregiver. As he relinquishes his brother into the hands of his usual caregivers, though, he insists that the discoveries he's made about his brother have been overlooked by those who've been caring for him for decades. There is also a hint that Charlie will remain in touch with his brother in part to make sure that those who care for him are reminded that even Raymond is capable of evolving. He's right about this, and, luckily, Raymond's professional caregivers take note. This is an idealized and felicitous version of what professional caregiving could be with regular, refreshing oversight by family members. There are, it should be said, many who do this. Our professional facility staffs members, though, are only just beginning to consider that family members who regularly visit professionally placed charges are more than interlopers with whom they must negotiate in order to give all appearances (true or not) that care recipients are receiving the care their relatives expect and make sure no one expects anything more than that for which adequate payment has been received. Rain Man does not hesitate to make the point that "Wallbrook" (I believe I'm remembering the name of the facility correctly) is one of the best, if not the best, of such facilities "in the country" and is careful to establish the dead father as a very rich man who set up a hefty trust to handle the cost of Raymond's excellent care. This movie was initially released in 1988. Funny how things haven't changed much since then in the professional care business!
So, hmmm...fanciful, really, and thought provoking, to be a caregiver and watch movies from the caregiver's perspective. Amazing what one notices, and amazing, as well, what we don't notice.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Mom just went to bed.
Although it's not unusual for her to be up this late, the reason was unusual. We received the movie Maborosi, yet another Kore-eda Hirokazu film, from our rental company. Despite her enjoyment of After Life, when Maborosi began I thought, Uh, oh. She's not going to like this one. Too dark, too quiet, too subtle. She'll head in for a nap before it's over. I was right about the nap, but wrong about her appreciation of the movie. Later this evening, after her usual before bed rituals, when she asked me what I'd be doing after she retired, I mentioned that I was planning to watch the rest of the movie we started this afternoon.
"How much is left?" she asked.
"About an hour."
"What do we have planned for tomorrow?" I love it when she asks this. Typically our days are so fluid that nothing much is planned, from her perspective, anyway, before the "morning" of her day.
"Nothing, so far," I said.
"I think I'll watch it with you."
"Do you want me to start it over?" I'd paused it at a point early in Yumiko's first day with her second husband.
"No, but maybe you could rewind it a little."
I was so surprised at how entranced she was by the film, this evening, that it was a struggle for me to keep up with the film while watching her. I noticed her gently smiling and nodding throughout the film. She was particularly taken with the scenes with children and the funeral procession toward the end of the film. At one point, when an Ancient fisherwoman heads out to catch crabs, she connected it with the opening scene of the movie when Yumiko's grandmother refuses to be dissuaded from walking to her home in order to die. "That's her grandmother," Mom exclaimed.
"I guess you could say that," I said. I was pleased that she'd been paying such close attention that she noticed the connection.
Late in the film I paused it and said, "She (Yumiko) reminds me of you. Something about her strength and silence."
She grinned. "What about the family resemblance," she joked, primping her hair "did you notice that?"
Actually, there is a strong resemblance in the way Yumiko holds herself when she observes and thinks. I mentioned this.
"Hmmm..." Mom said. "I'll have to think about that."
At one point in the film, when Yumiko returns to her previous home to attend her brother's wedding, she explains that her husband has not accompanied her because he is watching his elderly father, who lives with them.
"I guess they do that, there," she said. "That's good."
I nodded, realizing that what she was also saying was that she remains aware that people don't do this, as much, in this culture. Made me feel very good that I'm doing this.
When the term "maborosi" was explained, she said, "I've heard of that." Having been a Navy woman, I'm sure she has.
At the end, she knew it was the end, which was yet another surprise with this type of film. Generally, when I queue up such subtle films, she's surprised, sometimes unpleasantly so, at the placement of the end. She watched all the credits with me (I always watch all the credits, partially to make sure I don't miss occasional surprises placed into or at the end of the credits), even though they were in Japanese. She commented on the placement of the dots and made an interesting guess that the long lines were hyphens. We discussed the possible meaning of the placement of the short lines of script preceding the long lines.
I've been wondering, since Mom retired, what it is about these slow, deep, dark, foreign, subtitled movies I insist on watching that has begun to attract her attention. It occurred to me that maybe she's finally decided to stick with them because she knows I love them and is attempting to view a little more of my soul, which is the same reason why I finally decided to focus on the types of movies she normally prefers.
You wouldn't think a stubbornly sedentary 89 year old woman with Dementia-Lite and a variety of other Ancient ailments would make such an effort, would you? It seems that, no matter how old we become, no matter how our world seems to dwindle, no matter what the conditions of our age do to us, we remain capable of surprising ourselves and those we love if we remain open to our loved ones and they to us.
More than anything, as this journal continues and develops, I guess it is this to which I hope it bears witness.
"How much is left?" she asked.
"About an hour."
"What do we have planned for tomorrow?" I love it when she asks this. Typically our days are so fluid that nothing much is planned, from her perspective, anyway, before the "morning" of her day.
"Nothing, so far," I said.
"I think I'll watch it with you."
"Do you want me to start it over?" I'd paused it at a point early in Yumiko's first day with her second husband.
"No, but maybe you could rewind it a little."
I was so surprised at how entranced she was by the film, this evening, that it was a struggle for me to keep up with the film while watching her. I noticed her gently smiling and nodding throughout the film. She was particularly taken with the scenes with children and the funeral procession toward the end of the film. At one point, when an Ancient fisherwoman heads out to catch crabs, she connected it with the opening scene of the movie when Yumiko's grandmother refuses to be dissuaded from walking to her home in order to die. "That's her grandmother," Mom exclaimed.
"I guess you could say that," I said. I was pleased that she'd been paying such close attention that she noticed the connection.
Late in the film I paused it and said, "She (Yumiko) reminds me of you. Something about her strength and silence."
She grinned. "What about the family resemblance," she joked, primping her hair "did you notice that?"
Actually, there is a strong resemblance in the way Yumiko holds herself when she observes and thinks. I mentioned this.
"Hmmm..." Mom said. "I'll have to think about that."
At one point in the film, when Yumiko returns to her previous home to attend her brother's wedding, she explains that her husband has not accompanied her because he is watching his elderly father, who lives with them.
"I guess they do that, there," she said. "That's good."
I nodded, realizing that what she was also saying was that she remains aware that people don't do this, as much, in this culture. Made me feel very good that I'm doing this.
When the term "maborosi" was explained, she said, "I've heard of that." Having been a Navy woman, I'm sure she has.
At the end, she knew it was the end, which was yet another surprise with this type of film. Generally, when I queue up such subtle films, she's surprised, sometimes unpleasantly so, at the placement of the end. She watched all the credits with me (I always watch all the credits, partially to make sure I don't miss occasional surprises placed into or at the end of the credits), even though they were in Japanese. She commented on the placement of the dots and made an interesting guess that the long lines were hyphens. We discussed the possible meaning of the placement of the short lines of script preceding the long lines.
I've been wondering, since Mom retired, what it is about these slow, deep, dark, foreign, subtitled movies I insist on watching that has begun to attract her attention. It occurred to me that maybe she's finally decided to stick with them because she knows I love them and is attempting to view a little more of my soul, which is the same reason why I finally decided to focus on the types of movies she normally prefers.
You wouldn't think a stubbornly sedentary 89 year old woman with Dementia-Lite and a variety of other Ancient ailments would make such an effort, would you? It seems that, no matter how old we become, no matter how our world seems to dwindle, no matter what the conditions of our age do to us, we remain capable of surprising ourselves and those we love if we remain open to our loved ones and they to us.
More than anything, as this journal continues and develops, I guess it is this to which I hope it bears witness.
