As told to Jacquelyne Froeber
November is National Family Caregivers Month.
My mom was my biggest fan. After I published my first novel, she attended all of my author talks. At the end of each session, she would ask if anyone in the crowd had questions and she was always the first to raise her hand. “I’m Vicki, your mother,” she said, standing up. Everyone would laugh. “My daughter is a brilliant writer; this is a brilliant book.”
People thought my mom was adorable, but I was so embarrassed. I told her, “Mom, you can’t announce to everyone how wonderful your daughter is and then ask me questions at every reading.” She said okay and then ignored me. That was my mother: she radiated positivity and joy, and she was passionate about supporting women, including, and most especially, her daughter.
After my father passed away in 2014, my mother moved to Los Angeles. I lived in a 55 and older community about five minutes from my house. Although he was independent, he lived with a brain tumor. It was not cancerous, but it limited his vision in one eye and caused balance problems. Still, my mom could do almost everything herself: go to the grocery store, get her nails done, take a memoir writing class.
Then the fender bender occurred. My primary care doctor, who was also my mother’s doctor, told us that he didn’t think my mother should drive anymore: she had very poor eyesight.
She knew that giving up her car was a big deal for her: driving was her independence. But I quickly realized that it was a big change for all of us.
After that, I became Mom’s primary caregiver, but I still had two of my three children at home who I took to their doctor appointments, school, soccer practice, martial arts, and more. all the other places they should be.
I began to feel like I was drowning in demands. On a normal day, I would pick up Mom for an appointment or go to the grocery store and my phone would ring all the time.
“I need the reservation number for the plane tickets.” – Daughter
“I need a ride home after practice.” – Son
“I need money for lunch.” — The youngest
“Did you respond to the text message about the reservation?” – Husband
“I need a ride.” — Family dog
Okay, our dog never made demands over text, but I still felt guilty. I was always running around trying to balance the needs of my children and my mother. There were also the emotional needs and adolescent angst that accompanied everyday life. And my mom also had emotional needs. I tried to be present in the moment when I was with her, but I often got distracted. I felt like I was being left behind as a daughter, mother, and wife.
Robin and her dog, Shiloh, 2024
Some days I felt like stopping the car and crying. I was so overwhelmed physically and mentally. But, frankly, I didn’t have time.
In October 2019, things got worse. My mom fell and hit her eye, the good one. The injury took away her sight and she later became almost completely blind. She needed in-home care and therapy, and it was up to me to find the best care team to help her with all of her new challenges.
Then Covid started and everything went dark. Home care plans ceased. Everything was shut down and planned doctor visits and therapy simply disappeared.
We were terrified. Everyone was terrified. To make matters worse, our house was not safe for my mom. My husband is a doctor, so he was in and out of the hospital every day during the pandemic. We were terrified that we could give him the virus. And I couldn’t go to his house. The senior community was very strict because they were trying to protect their vulnerable residents.
So it was weeks before I could see my mom in person. When I was finally able to visit her, I was shocked at how bad things had gone in such a short time. I was confused and disoriented. Isolation, loneliness and lack of services had taken an irreversible toll on him. We did everything we could to lift her spirits and overall health, but Mom died shortly after.
The guilt was insurmountable. As her caregiver, I felt responsible for her. Guilt and regret swirled in my brain: I made the wrong decisions… I should have made different decisions… if only I had known my mother was at the end of her life… but how could I have known… .what could? I moved her in with me… but I was trying to protect her… but did I protect her? These questions tormented me.
The loss and pain of losing a parent is something that many people experience. But grief takes on a different tone when you are their primary caregiver. There is an extra layer of guilt and remorse, even if there was nothing else you could have done. Because it’s not just pain, there is a sense of responsibility and that is very difficult to handle.
Mentally I was in a very dark place for a long time. I had spent a lot of time worrying about my mother when I was alone and now that she was gone, I worried about how she died.
About a year later, when the world opened up again, two of my three children were in school. My youngest son started driving everywhere and no longer needed me like before the pandemic. I suddenly became a directionless person.
I had these two leading roles in my life, mother and daughter, which may have been difficult at times, but they gave me a sense of purpose. So who was I without my children and my mother?
I needed help moving forward, so I started seeing a grief therapist. She changed my life. She helped me see that I had been a strong advocate for my loved ones my entire life and that there was nothing I could have done to change what happened to my mother.
In addition to therapy, I began a regular writing practice in which I shared my grief and loss each week on my blog. It was the best way for me to connect with myself and share my grief journey with others. After a year of writing, I went back and reread what I had written. It remains a powerful map of what I’ve been through and how far I’ve come.
It’s been four years since my mom died. Since then, I went from feeling his absence to feeling his presence in everything I do. I asked her for help many times when I was writing my second book: “Heart. Soul. Pen: Find your voice on the page and in your life.” I still look for his hand in the crowd during author talks, but even though I don’t see it, I feel it. I know she is still here with me.
Do you have any real women, any stories of your own that you want to share? let us know.
Our Real Women, Real Stories are authentic experiences of real-life women. The views, opinions and experiences shared in these stories are not endorsed by HealthyWomen and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of HealthyWomen.
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