Why does caring for my dad take over my life?

DEAR Bel,

You’re just someone who brought happiness into my life/And it did not last for ever, oh, but that’s all right/ We were always more than lovers and I’m still your friend/And if I had the chance, I’d do it all again/So I’m not tryin’ to forget you anymore.

FROM I’M NOT TRYING TO FORGET YOU ANYMORE BY WILLIE NELSON

I’M 58, single with a married son who’s 36. My late husband took his own life. Now I have two wonderful grandchildren (six and three) and look after my widowed 94-year-old father. I love them all dearly.

Since the age of 15 I’ve worked full time and also help my daughter-in-law, who has no family support.

My father lives in a warden-assisted complex for older people. Until the pandemic, he was quite active, but sadly, over the past three years, he’s almost stopped going out.

I now do all his grocery shopping; he is completely reliant on me for everything. I organise all his hospital and GP appointments, and ferry him everywhere.

I have suggested we get a helper for a couple of hours a week, just to clean around his flat, maybe do some shopping, have a chat, etc. He could easily afford this, but he won’t agree. He says he doesn’t want a stranger in his flat, he’d rather manage on his own.

I visit every Saturday, deliver his groceries for the week, cook meals for a couple of days, do a little cleaning and have a chat. I also pop in one evening a week after work and try to take him out to a pub. I phone him every night to ensure he speaks to somebody each day. His only other regular contact is with his 93-year-old sister, who lives 60 kilometres away.

I am writing because I feel exhausted. I rarely get an hour to myself and when I do, I’m too tired to do anything. I am beginning to feel resentful towards my father and feel very guilty. He says I do too much and will wear myself out yet he seems to expect me to spend less time with my grandchildren, who are such a source of joy.

I wish he’d agree to me getting somebody to help him.

I am weighed down by his dependency and feel sad that I have to use half of my annual leave taking him and his sister on holidays when I don’t really want to act as a carer to both of them. I am sad and guilty for wanting a holiday on my own. Most of all, I feel guilty for even writing to you.

I should feel grateful that my dad is still alive, yet here I am on the first sunny Sunday afternoon of the year — the first day I have had to myself in over a month — currently in bed, and in tears, too tired to do anything.

DIANE

HOW I wish I could magic myself to your house, bringing tea, wine, chocolate, fragrant candles and masses of sympathy!

Your letter strikes such a chord since, at the beginning of last year, I was feeling equally drained (emotionally and physically) by my poor mother’s health and unhappiness, to the extent that certain kind colleagues were worried about me, suggesting holidays and so on (but Mum said sternly: ‘Lots of people don’t have holidays’).

Countless readers will identify and feel nothing but sympathy for a woman who brought up her son single-handedly after the tragedy, who works hard, yet finds plenty of time for beloved-grandchild-care, and who looks after her old dad with energetic devotion. You are a superstar.

Who could possibly blame you for feeling tired and fed up? Who would dare criticise you for yearning to have time for yourself instead of taking two nonagenarians on holiday?

You love your father very much and I’m sure you are very fond of your aunt too and those genuine affections are in no way contradicted by your feelings of being put-upon and exhausted.

It is vital for you to understand that and to put your moments of resentment in perspective.

Try to control your groundless feelings of guilt. After all, you might be a good, hardworking mother, mother-in-law, grandmother and daughter, but that doesn’t mean you have to be saint.

Your original letter was more than twice as long so I know about the twice-weekly school run and the grandchildren’s weekend sleepovers two or three times a month. No wonder you’re tired.

The blunt truth is that old people can become very selfish and think that you should devote all your time to them rather than to the young or (perish the thought) to yourself. I was rather shocked by witnessing this in my dear mother when she’d never been like that her whole life.

What can be done but blithely sail over the selfish assumptions?

You are perfectly entitled to feel irritated/frustrated with your father, so must learn how to tell him ‘No’.

Not easy, but essential. Years ago my father told me they didn’t need a cleaner, but I went ahead and organised one and she became a wonderful emotional support. Then he had a meltdown over the necessary stair-lift I put in, but later found it useful.

Much later (after his death) my mother was a tad sulky about the idea of a carer coming each morning, but learned to welcome that lovely person.

The time comes when you have to insist on such help, simply because (as you’ll explain to him) if your own health is affected by all the demands, then you won’t be able to be the good daughter he takes for granted.

You need to be strong, in order to look after yourself for the future.