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On the topic of the thread, well, I've been waking up every morning about 3:45 am and can't go back to sleep - I finally get up at around 5 after wallowing miserably in the bed for over an hour with so many issues whirling around in my head. My mom, my brother,
I thank God for my husband every single day. He is such a rock! And especially when he's home (he works out of state a lot), I am able to get my mind off things (the counseling really helped with this). I am able to focus on what we are doing and our various projects and that's good for me.
But the stress comes out - at 3:45 in the morning when I wake up out of a dead sleep and the first thing on my mind is "appraisals, taxes, clearing out barns, my brother, my mom, moving her, not moving her, OMG the taxes, yada yada yada." AUGH.
One day this will all be behind me. I keep telling myself that.
What about your brother is a concern that wakes you up?
Quote:
...the properties, the estate, the taxes...it's all slowly getting handled but it's all up to me and it's a heavy burden.
That is a hard job, but it is a JOB, as it was your father's before you. It's not caretaking. It's a job you chose, that will pay you well in the form on inheritance. You could farm it out, get yourself paid for it now, etc.
I bet it's at least half the hours of your prior job.
When I asked how is this different from your prior job, is we all wake up thinking about what we have to accomplish in our job that day, so this part is not different.
I'm not understanding how it feels so much more dramatic to you than spending twice as much of your day, on someone else's clock, accomplishing for them according to their goals and needs.
"Take note if the person often complains that his or her selflessness goes unacknowledged. People with martyr syndrome often look and act unhappy because they feel that their sacrifices are underappreciated.
A person with martyr syndrome will often feel like the person she has sacrificed for does not really how instrumental she has been in the person’s success.
The person will mostly talk about how difficult life has been for her because she has had to sacrifice so much for the benefit of others. She will never talk about other options that she could have chosen to remedy the situation."
KA...I get it. You want to protect your Mom's dignity for HER sake. I always felt the same way looking after MY mom.
It is gut wrenchingly sad to witness a once-vibrant person lose control of the things that were important to them.
The level of responsibility you have for your Mom overall--including looking after her estate which can be very touchy with other heirs---it's emotionally crushing.
What about your brother is a concern that wakes you up?
That is a hard job, but it is a JOB, as it was your father's before you. It's not caretaking. It's a job you chose, that will pay you well in the form on inheritance. You could farm it out, get yourself paid for it now, etc.
I bet it's at least half the hours of your prior job.
When I asked how is this different from your prior job, is we all wake up thinking about what we have to accomplish in our job that day, so this part is not different.
I'm not understanding how it feels so much more dramatic to you than spending twice as much of your day, on someone else's clock, accomplishing for them according to their goals and needs.
The concern about my brother is that the very property in question is the property that he had his mental breakdown on. It is very emotional to him. He is not objective about it. And I dread having to meet him out there (he can't come there alone) to go through things, etc. I am very concerned about his mental health and that stress on him, and he has been violent toward me in the past so there's that as well.
As for this part not being caregiving - I beg to differ on that. Taking over my parents' entire financial picture for my mother IS a part of caregiving. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have had to have a POA. It is a part of the overall burden.
And yes, hopefully one day there will be some sort of inheritance to split with my two brothers. My mom's care is going to run somewhere between $40,000 and about $70,000 a year. Without giving too much personal detail, I'll just say considering the value of the overall estate, it's conceivable and possible that she will run out of money before she runs out of life. My parents were comfortably what I would call upper middle class. NOT wealthy. There's not an endless heap of money - it has to be managed very well to stretch for as long as possible.
And if you can't see the emotional difference between doing this "job" over my former "real" job - wow, that's surprising. Let me try once again to break it down for you:
I don't wake up every morning simply thinking about doing the taxes per se, or if I need to call the financial planner and ask a question or whatever. I wake up every morning worrying about meeting my mentally ill brother out on the property and whether or not I need to carry a gun with me, and whether or not I could actually shoot my brother if I had to protect myself. I wake up worrying about whether or not my mother took her meds last night. I wake up feeling sad that my mother is so alone and that I'm really the only person she has left in this world to give her positive affirmation and encouragement. I wake up feeling guilty that I can't manage to fake the fun and laughter that my mom and I used to share.
I wake up worrying about how to tell my brother that the land he has always assumed he was going to inherit and live on (via my parents' money) is sold and he needs to come get his stuff. I wake up worrying about how to get rid of junk vehicles without titles if he doesn't come move them himself - which is won't do. I wake up worrying about where my mom's expensive prescription glasses are in that hot, messy apartment. I wake up worrying about whether or not my famously hoarding dad hid silver coins under a floorboard somewhere in property my mom is selling. I wake up worrying about whether or not my mom is being cooperative or argumentative with the staff that's not going to put up with much more of her anxiety ridden behavior. I wake up thinking about how to handle the whole cat issue - her beloved cat - if and when I have to move her to another facility. I wake up worried that my mother is going to absolutely hate me - and yet I'm the only person willing and able to take care of her needs.
I wake up worrying about whether or not I'm doing what my dad would want me to do with everything. I wake up with memories of that beautiful land that's been in my family for generations, that beautiful old 120 year old house that has been filled with children over the decades - children who are now dead, or elderly, or middle aged like me, or my grandchildren who now won't have that touchstone in their lives. I wake up with memories of fishing with my grandfather, sitting on that huge porch overlooking the pond with my dad, who was so happy to live there, licking the chocolate icing bowl as a toddler as I sit on the counter in that big, yellow kitchen with my beloved great aunt who is now dead and gone. I wake up thinking about the 100 year old graffiti carved into the logs my dad used to build the guest house with - graffiti carved by my great great grandfather - that I'll soon never see again.
I wake up worrying about what to do with all the stuff that fills all those barns and houses. I wake up dreading clearing out barns and houses in the sticky heat of July in the south, and this 55 year old body of mine hauling stuff up and down rickety barn loft stairs. I wake up wondering what to keep and what to give away and where to put what I might need to keep or sell at a later date - and how to sell it when it's in the middle of freaking nowhere. I wake up worrying about giving away or selling so much nostalgic stuff that my dad collected over the years.
I wake up wondering if I need to just go ahead and scatter my dad's ashes over the place now, without my two brothers with me, because the place will soon change hands but one brother probably can't handle it emotionally and the other brother is so sick that he can't travel - and probably won't be able to by the time the place sells. So do I scatter his ashes alone? Just some of them? Save some for later? For what - to put in a box somewhere? I don't want that box!
So yeah - that's, well, NOTHING like the sort of things I woke up to, planning my duties on my professional job, when I was working at my "real" job. Believe me, this new job is very, very real and much more emotionally draining. And I don't really think I can "farm out" any of that I just described.
"Take note if the person often complains that his or her selflessness goes unacknowledged. People with martyr syndrome often look and act unhappy because they feel that their sacrifices are underappreciated.
A person with martyr syndrome will often feel like the person she has sacrificed for does not really how instrumental she has been in the person’s success.
The person will mostly talk about how difficult life has been for her because she has had to sacrifice so much for the benefit of others. She will never talk about other options that she could have chosen to remedy the situation."
Oh good grief. I don't have martyr syndrome. I'm not a martyr. I'm simply describing the emotions I feel about this whole big load that I rather unexpectedly find myself carrying.
My mom is NOT "a success." In fact, she's struggling and floundering right before my very eyes - and I feel like her health and wellbeing is my responsibility and I feel like I'm failing her - and failing my dad - in some nebulous sort of way.
And I'm not selfless. I am very aware of the fact that some of the emotions I describe in my writings are less than noble - but I want to be honest about my emotions.
I actually feel very guilty - which I've described in great detail over the past few months - because my mom seems so lonely and unhappy and because I cannot meet her emotional needs. I've been very clear about the fact that I have emotional baggage when it comes to my mother, and that I carry hurt and resentment toward her for her past behavior, which has been abusive and paranoid over the years. Those old, unresolved patterns are worse now - the only difference is that she can't actually physically abuse me any more, though she has raised her fist at me and glared at me in the not so distant past - so much so that my dad once actually stepped between my mom and me and grabbed her wrist and asked her what the hell she thought she was doing (just a few months before he passed away).
All of this makes me very, very sad. And I will continue to express this sadness, and other emotions I may feel, in spite of your implication that I now have "martyr syndrome." I'm not a freaking martyr and I don't feel like one. That doesn't mean that I don't have very strong emotions regarding the whole situation.
Wow.
Last edited by KathrynAragon; 07-03-2017 at 07:31 AM..
KA...I get it. You want to protect your Mom's dignity for HER sake. I always felt the same way looking after MY mom.
It is gut wrenchingly sad to witness a once-vibrant person lose control of the things that were important to them.
The level of responsibility you have for your Mom overall--including looking after her estate which can be very touchy with other heirs---it's emotionally crushing.
I admire how well you've done with it.
Thank you. You hit the nail on the head.
In spite of my mother's issues and rather unpleasant personality, my mother has always been beautiful, poised, eloquent, and most of all, very artistic and very prolific when it comes to art and poetry. All of our homes (my brothers, my children, my mom's apartment) are filled with truly beautiful oil paintings that my mother has done over the years. My parents and I worked for several years, gathering writings, poems, essays, etc from them, my brothers and me, my children, my cousins (mostly on my mom's side), her sisters, etc. and then my dad printed them on parchment paper and beautifully bound this collection for everyone who made a contribution, and those writings are very touching.
Now my mom goes around with copies of her writings and wants to read them to anyone who will listen. She gives them to people in the halls where she lives, she gives them to store clerks, she gives them to people at church, etc. She talks non stop about her paintings - she recently had my brother install lights to shine on her paintings because she is so proud of them. She wants to shop incessantly for clothes and jewelry and purses and shoes - and spends hours each day going through all those to lay out what she's going to wear the next day. She stands in front of the mirror for hours (she was doing that when my dad was alive too - he remarked on it often to me in a puzzled way), brushing her thick, wild white hair and playing with her makeup and trying on scarves and necklaces and earrings.
It's very sad to watch her now. She clearly, clearly yearns for her former abilities and her former beauty. And my dad was so accommodating to her. He always bragged on her - but he also sort of had her "in check." For instance, he would have told her if she had on something weird looking. He would have told her he didn't like her hair if it looked wild. He would have told her not to wear Mardi Gras beads with a particular outfit. He would have told her not to smear lipstick on her cheeks. In fact, in the last year of his life, he called me repeatedly asking me "What should I do - she is wearing the craziest looking outfit!" and I'd say "Tell her it looks weird - I mean, in your own way - but tell her you'd rather her wear something else!" and he would.
And she would listen to him, because his approval of her was very important to her - but she will not take even a small bit of guidance from me because she has always felt threatened by me, which is bizarre. I have truly, truly always simply wanted her to be happier, to be less tormented emotionally. I've felt empathetic to her since I was a very small child.
And though she dresses bizarrely sometimes, and though her hair looks wild to me, and though she wears lipstick in strange places, even then I try to find something positive to say about something she's wearing, because she puts so much time and effort into what she wears. But when I compliment her, she just mutters, "Oh, you're just saying that because you feel like you have to." Which, unfortunately, is pretty true - but you can see how the whole thing makes me feel uncomfortable. So I compliment her less and less - and then I wonder if I should compliment her more because my dad's not around to bolster her ego anymore. What does that void do to a person like her? I have no idea.
Augh! Yes, it's sad to watch someone sort of fall apart right before one's eyes. I keep wondering if there is something I can do to make the whole situation better. I'm a very upbeat, solutions oriented person naturally and I don't see many positive options here. Let's see - entertain and nurture Mom, field her volley of insults and her paranoia and depression or mania while I'm doing it, take care of her financial needs, write huge checks in various directions every month, meet with doctors and other health care professionals every month to discuss how Mom is not getting better and how to manage her lack of cooperation, her denial, her anxiety and her paranoia, coordinate the sale of family property my dad loved, get rid of tons of heirloom items, and then one day, maybe next week, maybe ten years from now, Mom will get really really sick again and die. And that's just not a very productive, positive solution to anything for me. It just feels sad.
I get it Kathryn! The waking up in the very early morning with the many thoughts swirling around in your head. It's been an ongoing issue for me that involves my parent's situation, my work, and a huge health scare with my youngest child.
It is a manifestation of stress, I think. Makes for some long days, thats for sure!
So today I'm experiencing an emotion that's pretty alien to me - I feel blue. This is not a typical or even particularly familiar state of mind for me.
I think I've figured out why I'm so blue though. For starters, I really do miss my dad. .....
It is emotionally exhausting. Dad, I hope you're having a marvelous time somewhere - I had no idea how much you earned this reprieve!
I get this. My dad died around the same time as yours, and although my mom doesn't need the type of care yours does, all my emotions and effort went to holding mom up.
I know I haven't been able to grieve 100% for dad yet. What I have instead is his constant voice in my head saying "don't leave mom there by herself." I've told her, she knows that is exactly what he would say because he hadn't left her alone for one minute after her heart attacks. So I think until she is ready to move, I will feel this guilt and responsibility to take care of her instead of allowing the grief to come through.
The concern about my brother is that the very property in question is the property that he had his mental breakdown on. It is very emotional to him. He is not objective about it. And I dread having to meet him out there (he can't come there alone) to go through things, etc. I am very concerned about his mental health and that stress on him, and he has been violent toward me in the past so there's that as well.
As for this part not being caregiving - I beg to differ on that. Taking over my parents' entire financial picture for my mother IS a part of caregiving. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have had to have a POA. It is a part of the overall burden.
And yes, hopefully one day there will be some sort of inheritance to split with my two brothers. My mom's care is going to run somewhere between $40,000 and about $70,000 a year. Without giving too much personal detail, I'll just say considering the value of the overall estate, it's conceivable and possible that she will run out of money before she runs out of life. My parents were comfortably what I would call upper middle class. NOT wealthy. There's not an endless heap of money - it has to be managed very well to stretch for as long as possible.
And if you can't see the emotional difference between doing this "job" over my former "real" job - wow, that's surprising. Let me try once again to break it down for you:
I don't wake up every morning simply thinking about doing the taxes per se, or if I need to call the financial planner and ask a question or whatever. I wake up every morning worrying about meeting my mentally ill brother out on the property and whether or not I need to carry a gun with me, and whether or not I could actually shoot my brother if I had to protect myself. I wake up worrying about whether or not my mother took her meds last night. I wake up feeling sad that my mother is so alone and that I'm really the only person she has left in this world to give her positive affirmation and encouragement. I wake up feeling guilty that I can't manage to fake the fun and laughter that my mom and I used to share.
I wake up worrying about how to tell my brother that the land he has always assumed he was going to inherit and live on (via my parents' money) is sold and he needs to come get his stuff. I wake up worrying about how to get rid of junk vehicles without titles if he doesn't come move them himself - which is won't do. I wake up worrying about where my mom's expensive prescription glasses are in that hot, messy apartment. I wake up worrying about whether or not my famously hoarding dad hid silver coins under a floorboard somewhere in property my mom is selling. I wake up worrying about whether or not my mom is being cooperative or argumentative with the staff that's not going to put up with much more of her anxiety ridden behavior. I wake up thinking about how to handle the whole cat issue - her beloved cat - if and when I have to move her to another facility. I wake up worried that my mother is going to absolutely hate me - and yet I'm the only person willing and able to take care of her needs.
I wake up worrying about whether or not I'm doing what my dad would want me to do with everything. I wake up with memories of that beautiful land that's been in my family for generations, that beautiful old 120 year old house that has been filled with children over the decades - children who are now dead, or elderly, or middle aged like me, or my grandchildren who now won't have that touchstone in their lives. I wake up with memories of fishing with my grandfather, sitting on that huge porch overlooking the pond with my dad, who was so happy to live there, licking the chocolate icing bowl as a toddler as I sit on the counter in that big, yellow kitchen with my beloved great aunt who is now dead and gone. I wake up thinking about the 100 year old graffiti carved into the logs my dad used to build the guest house with - graffiti carved by my great great grandfather - that I'll soon never see again.
I wake up worrying about what to do with all the stuff that fills all those barns and houses. I wake up dreading clearing out barns and houses in the sticky heat of July in the south, and this 55 year old body of mine hauling stuff up and down rickety barn loft stairs. I wake up wondering what to keep and what to give away and where to put what I might need to keep or sell at a later date - and how to sell it when it's in the middle of freaking nowhere. I wake up worrying about giving away or selling so much nostalgic stuff that my dad collected over the years.
I wake up wondering if I need to just go ahead and scatter my dad's ashes over the place now, without my two brothers with me, because the place will soon change hands but one brother probably can't handle it emotionally and the other brother is so sick that he can't travel - and probably won't be able to by the time the place sells. So do I scatter his ashes alone? Just some of them? Save some for later? For what - to put in a box somewhere? I don't want that box!
So yeah - that's, well, NOTHING like the sort of things I woke up to, planning my duties on my professional job, when I was working at my "real" job. Believe me, this new job is very, very real and much more emotionally draining. And I don't really think I can "farm out" any of that I just described.
I am so sorry about all of those things.
Regarding the land. People who are not long time landowners often do not understand the emotions behind selling land. Our family farm has been in the family for over 100 years. After our parents died, we were very proactive in arranging that it be preserved for future generations of our family.
As an example, our grandfather & father started a very long term forestry project about 1940, which we continued & our children are now continuing, that will not be completed until their great-great-great? grandchildren are adults about 2040 to 2050. While we were forced to sell some of the land we saved enough money that the future taxes will be paid for many years on the small portion that we kept.
Non long time landowners often have great difficulty "seeing" how plans can be started that will take over 100 years to be completed. But, true "caretakers" of the land can understand it completely.
BTW, to clean & organize the house, barns & sheds on just our one farm took all of us about ten years after our parents died (with the most important work done in about two years and the rest slowly over the last years). All of us lived out of town, and most of us had small children, and our sister lived out of state. It is incredible that you are trying to do it all within a few months of your father's death, basically on your own.Are you sure that you have to rush this fast? Are you 100% sure that all of the land needs to sold? If it absolutely needs to sold, because of the terms of the will, can a small portion, perhaps the farm house and a few acres be purchased by a family member?
Last edited by germaine2626; 07-03-2017 at 08:24 AM..
I can relate to many of your memories of times growing up at a good time in the bosom of family and generations past.
My Dad died Oct 30, 2002. I still grieve his loss. I visit his grave at the home church, a missionary Baptist Church from 1829.
Memories surround me, such as that church. It is still going strong, just new people. When the new people look at a brick addition, they see a brick addition. I look at it and remember when my Mom told my uncle, a career Army man, that the children needed an indoor bathroom. He funded the supplies to build an addition with indoor plumbing for a children's church. My Dad got the men of the community together and uncle came home on leave. The men built the extension with plumbing and the ladies put out a feast to celebrate.
I talk with Dad when I visit about all my worries and good things and sit by him on that peaceful knoll in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I miss him so. And I miss what was and will be no more.
The last time I visited his grave on a snappy November day, I was silently thinking and I heard his voice, clear as day, saying "Judy, there is nothing for you here anymore." I looked around, no one. The voice I heard was his. The wisdom as always was his.
So I endeavor to let him go and hope I have not been holding him back from the unbroken circle. My last trip to western North Carolina I chose not to visit and bring flowers to his grave. Letting go is hard.
We reach that point where we must Like the old man in the brooks and Dunn song who sat on his porch and read what was written in red. That is: sort out what is important from all else, the letters written in red. All else is transitory.
Perhaps that is yours to do at this point in time. Separate the permanent from transitory and put yourself there. Hire out all else. Supervise the sorting, let strong backs or an estate service do the work. Meet your other obligations in a manner of your choosing when you have support nearby.
A whole lot has been dumped on you, just do the best you can and remind yourself that the permanent is only a small part of it But is all that is really important, like the words in red.
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