A number of comments lately have mentioned or alluded to the hope of gaining something spiritually from the experience of caregiving. That idea always resonates with me, and I'd like to explore it a little more.
I've been a caregiver in a number of different situations - for a lover, two close friends, two siblings, and a parent. I have found deep satisfaction in all of those situations, EXCEPT for the most part in caring for my mother.
I think for many people, illness and dependency strips away artifice, and allow a person to allow himself/herself to be unusually vulnerable. For the caregiver, it allows you to connect very deeply with the person, to tend to their needs, shield their vulnerabilities, and soothe their pain and their fear. Being chosen by someone when they're most vulnerable and in need feels like a great honor, and being with them in their time of need feels like an amazing privilege. I cherish the memories I have, of a dear friend allowing me to shower her when she was disabled after surgery on her shoulder, of my sister calling me with the flu and saying right out "I need help. Will you help me?" I remember washing another friend's hair in her hospital bed when she was laid up from surgery. These are not interactions that we normally don't experience in everyday life, and they're very special.
Then there's my mother. I find it impossible to get much satisfaction out of helping her, and I think it's because of her overwhelming sense of entitlement and her need to control everything. I don't think she lets herself be vulnerable except as a manipulation, when she can't get away with outright demanding something. I think she can't stand to think of herself as needy (or think of anyone else as having any autonomy or choice), so she presents her needs as demands and expectation, and it's impossible to feel good about meeting them.
I keep thinking back to something the author M. Scott Peck said, about how love is the willingness to extend oneself for one's own or another person's spiritual growth. He also said that a loving person must be careful not to waste their love on those who are capable of benefitting spiritually. That's the situation I feel I'm in with my mother - wasting my love on someone who is incapable of benefitting spiritually. I can satisfy her material needs, but that doesn't satisfy me in any way. I want that deep closeness, that connection, and I think it's like electricity. Unless there's a complete circuit, it won't flow at all. That's my love for my mother, stopped at the source.
Sorry for the rambling. Maybe enough to spur others of you to share your thoughts?
Having said that, there's an opportunity cost, in terms of not being available for other, more important, life experiences. I was able to be with my sister when she died, because my sister lived only a few blocks away from my mother. But, a few years ago, an old friend of mine died in New York while I was stuck in Florida with my mother, and I wasn't able to be there for her at all or even say goodbye to her. I feel such deep regret about that. I'm sure my mother's confident that she is and should be top priority, but she's not. The fact that caregiving for my mother not only has no meaning for me but deprives me of experiences that would have great meaning, that's really hard to take.
This is a topic about which I need to think so that I can offer comments as eloquent as CW and Jessie.
Back later when my brain is functioning more clearly.
When we care for someone who has never been able to show appreciation, like you or Jessie, or someone like my mother whose dementia has stolen her ability to see the world outside herself, it is harder to know if there is any value to what we do. I've often lamented that even a newborn can smile with happiness, a dog will wag it's tail or a cat will purr, but my mother gives absolutely no feedback no matter what I do, so how do I know I am doing the right things?
So why do I do it? I look back at my life and I can clearly see the building blocks that gave me the ability to take on this role. I look at my mother as she once was and I know without question that I would never have abandoned that woman, so I continue to honour the mother, the woman, she used to be. And I hope that wherever the future takes me I will be able to look back at this time in my life as another building block that has helped me to grow into the person I need to be.
We are often asked here on the group that if things are not good, why don't we just leave. That is a very hard question for me to answer, mainly because I don't know. Sometimes there comes moments of clarity that let us know things about others and ourselves. The other morning I woke up and realized that I didn't leave because I am a responsible person who thinks of how my reactions will affect others around me. It was as simple as that. Realizing that was enlightening for some reason, since I had been feeling like something must be wrong with me for not leaving.
I know my mother well. I know that if I were to get pulverized by a truck in an accident, her thought would be who was going to buy groceries for her now. I don't seek love in a place where there is none. However, I am not that person. Will I miss her when she is gone? Probably not, because no bond ever formed between us. While she is here I will do the best I can to keep her semi-comfortable only if it is because I am responsible.
I could write a whole book on this, getting a lot deeper, but I think I'll leave it alone and let other people write things. It is hard to put things in words. It's a bit like trying to explain how something looks, tastes, or smells. We can experience things, but not be able to explain the feeling. I like those moments of clarity when the feelings put themselves into something that can be put in simple words.