About that sandwich

At our former church, there used to be a support group for ‘The Sandwich Generation.’ I never really understood what the phrase meant.

There’s not such a support group at our new church. But, as time has marched on, I have come to realize that the term refers to people who care for older parents while dealing with having children of their own. And whereas I don’t provide a lot of direct care for my parents, as my mother has suffered some health problems this year, I think I am getting a glimpse into what it could mean.

My mother fell last week and broke her arm. She had successful surgery to repair this latest break and she’s doing pretty well on the day after. Her injury actually turned out to be fairly serious so the procedure was somewhat involved.

This fall came on the heels of one she had back in the spring, which resulted in a broken leg.  

As she contemplated this second surgery, she was beginning to explore some ways to reverse the trend, improve her mobility and strengthen balance after she recooperates.
I think she’s considering a senior Tai Chi class as a possible remedy. That’s a good thing.

Meanwhile, as her surgery got underway, I went to sit with my dad. He had seemed tired and stressed when I saw him the day before. A lot of her care, in the wake of these accidents, has fallen to him. I was fortunate that I could get away from work for the afternoon to help him pass the time.

In such cases, it’s always nice to have someone to sit with, to chat with, to help you keep your mind off the slow-ticking clock. More importantly, I think it was important for him to get to express some of his concerns, talk about old times and make plans for the future.

My role was really just to listen.

He told me about some of his experiences in farming and how he juggled his time during his years as a college student. He talked about how proud he is of my kids and that he felt we have done a good job as parents.

As much as the experience was meaningful to me, this time was really for his benefit.

At one point, we went to the hospital cafeteria. He was needing some nourishment after a busy morning. For his lunch, he selected a yummy roast beef sandwich.

In his true generous manner, he offered me half but I declined. It was his sandwich. I had eaten lunch earlier. He smiled. He enjoyed both halves.

He was there for the sandwich; I was there for him.

JG

Originally posted 11/15/2011