GROWING IN GRACE: Lessons from a Caregiver

By Barbara Ritchey

A mom incapable of love. Multiple caregiving emergencies. Expensive litigation against false allegations. Betrayal, loss of all parents. Grief. Growth. Giving up control. Leaning on God.

When you are raised in a dysfunctional family with a mentally unstable mother who should love you but doesn’t, you spend your entire life, sadly, trying to earn that love, until one day, you move her into your home in obedience to the fifth commandment. Within weeks, things start to go downhill, your mom’s condition (mental and physical) deteriorates, your sisters accuse you of elder abuse, and it isn’t long before the proverbial manure hits the fan. As if that isn’t bad enough, your in-laws have simultaneous health emergencies, then your dad, and you gain a new caregiving responsibility.

Funerals, lawsuits, and betrayal—a perfect storm of catastrophes that would knock most people on their butts.

But instead, it knocks you on your knees, and you find grace, God’s free grace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890439970

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GROWING IN GRACE

Lessons from a Caregiver

Barbara Ritchey

ISBN 979-8-89043-996-3 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89043-997-0 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Barbara Ritchey

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

1

Control is Highly Overrated

2

Growing Pains

3

Prelude to Madness

4

Family, the Ties that Bind

5

And So It Begins

6

Define Outpatient

7

Thanksgiving?

8

Refusing to Adapt

9

Saturdays

10

The Daily Grind

11

Mood Swings

12

Resistance

13

Sometimes you just need to laugh

14

Love is…

15

Stuff

16

Coping with Anger

17

Not All About Me

18

Happy (?) New Year

19

The Reset Button

20

Scapegoat

21

A Rainy Day

22

Caregiver Plan B

23

Cultivating a Servant's Heart

24

Emotional Roller Coaster

25

Snowed in

26

When Will it End?

27

Talking to the Wall

28

Adjusting

29

What is a Family Anyway?

30

A Letter to My Sisters

31

A Day in the Life of a Caregiver

32

Unsolicited Advice

33

I Was Afraid of That

34

Letter to Mom

35

Running Away

36

Corban

37

Finding Rest

38

Choosing to Love

39

Maintaining Focus

40

Crazy is as Crazy Does

41

In Search of Peace and Quiet

42

Mother's Day

43

Pinball Wizards

44

A Short Reprieve

45

A Caregiving Conundrum

46

Stirring the Pot

47

Help not Wanted

48

Slow Progress

49

Glutton for Punishment

50

Seasons

51

Overcoming Bitterness

52

Losing Heart

53

Words of Encouragement

54

A Long, Long Year

55

Into the Storm

56

Rubbing Salt in the Wound

57

Mustard Seeds, Mountains, and Molehills

58

Lamenting

59

Welcoming Grief and Sadness

60

Stillness

61

Struggling with Forgiveness

62

The Pain of Betrayal

63

Overcoming the Overwhelmed

64

The need for acceptance

65

Into the Crucible

66

Nobody Wins But the Lawyers

67

Moving On

68

Mourning the Lost

69

Unrealistic Expectations

70

Seventy Times Seven

71

Martyr-Dumb

72

Talking With God

73

Did I Do Enough?

74

Cutting Ties

75

Freeing up Space

76

Dear (?) Sisters

77

Motherhood

78

Struggling to Reflect Christ

79

Letting Go

80

Scars

81

Rain Brings Growth

82

Mired in suffering

83

Knee Jerk Reaction

84

On Dreams and Nightmares

85

Putting it out There

86

Setting Healthy Boundaries

87

Lessons Learned

Epilogue

About the Author

To all caregivers—past, present, and future—who sacrifice their time, dreams, and sometimes sanity to give selflessly of themselves

Prologue

Back in 2010, I began writing a blog; the blog had no singular objective other than a way of expressing myself, getting my thoughts out. Sometimes humorous, other times spiritual, and many times self-deprecating. It took on a life of its own and became a vital part of my healing process. Most importantly, these blog entries exposed inner spiritual struggles, ultimately taking me further down the path of sanctification than I would ever have imagined.

As I look back over the last several years and follow the progression of blogs about my mom and my sisters, I am shocked at how easily manipulated I was, how foolish my actions were, and how arrogantly I presumed that I could discern God's will for my life, especially when it came to my mother and the damaged relationship we have had for decades.

What follows is a compilation of writings focusing on the struggles and challenges of being a caregiver. Over the course of two and a half years, my husband and I were flung into various caregiver roles. For both of us, it was an extremely steep learning curve, and there weren't a lot of resources for us to draw on. And while we had each other, neither of us would have made it through the trials ahead without leaning on Jesus. I prayed, I blogged, and I learned, and hopefully, I can share with other caregivers, future or current, what I've gleaned over the years. I had a lot of false starts, missteps, and total flops, but thanks be to God, I am still here and still learning.

Caregiving is a constant learning experience.

—Vivian Frazier, Resources for Caregivers, January 23, Living with Purpose

1

Control is Highly Overrated

Hi, my name is Barbara, and I'm a fixer, a mender, a reconciler. And in Barbara-land, everyone gets along. When family and friends have fallings out, they kiss and make up within days, if not hours. Everyone respects one another and listens and is thoughtful and kind. They understand each other. There is no drama at family reunions, and no one takes a Facebook post personally. Friends don't outgrow one another. Life is peaceful and wonderful. Ah, bliss.

How do I reconcile all that with reality? Here, in the real world, my sisters haven't spoken to me in years. People whom I thought were my friends dropped me over our choice of a realtor. Other friends have seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. My first husband refuses to acknowledge our youngest daughter, breaking her heart. And I cannot even begin to describe the convoluted relationship I had with my mom.

All these fractured and frail relationships sadden and frustrate me, and that fixer part of me tells me, Go ahead! You can do it! Talk some sense into her! or Send her a text with a smiley face! Today's myriad of communication avenues make it harder to not reach out (i.e., intervene). Heck, I can text, call, email, Facebook, tweet, FaceTime, or Skype—in addition to writing a note or driving to their house. They can't hide.

This insistent voice on that video loop in my head is goading me to take action and take control. I am the master of my destiny, the captain of my ship. Steer that ship! Yeah, right into an iceberg, an iceberg full of the inner demons that haunt my thoughts. Am I crazy? Will I turn out like my mother? Was I a good mom? Why do I try so hard to make people accept me? To love me? How can Jesus accept me as I am, with all my faults and ugliness and the horrible sins I committed? Maybe my mom hates me for a reason. Maybe I am too lost, too damaged.

It takes nearly every fiber of my being, all my pride, to surrender myself, to let go, to pray, to realize there will always be brokenness and pain and discord because of our sinful natures, that some will always be broken, and we won't all love each other here on earth. Worse, that not all will come to know the peace and grace of Jesus. For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to pluck up what is planted (Ecclesiastes 3:1–2 ESV). Even in my sorrow and frustration, there is a heavenly purpose.

Over the years, I had weathered so many storms, storms that would have broken me had I not had Jesus to lean on. So when we retired, and I was approaching my sixtieth birthday, I thought all the tough trials were behind me. Boy, was I wrong! What happened next nearly knocked me off my foundation, pushing me closer to the precipice of despair than I had ever been before. It was not just one challenge—it was multiple ones.

I felt as if I were standing at the top of a giant Jenga stack, and wood pieces kept getting pulled out from underneath me, making my position more and more precarious unless I trusted in God to hold me up or at least catch me if I fell. Two things kept me sane over the next several years: a daily talk with God and blogging about anything and everything I was going through. And I grew in his grace, his wonderful, wonderful grace.

2

Growing Pains

And Samuel grew and the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground (1 Samuel 3:19 ESV).

The first six chapters of the book of Samuel relate how the Israelites had grown complacent, lazy, and forgotten their sole purpose: to glorify God. Their sacrifices had become stale, and a renewal of their hearts was drastically needed. So God called out to Samuel. Even though Israel knew Samuel was the prophet of God, they persisted in trusting their own ways and tried to force God's hand by using the ark of the covenant as a talisman to defeat the Philistines.

Well, God had other plans—the ark was captured, Eli and his sons died, and all seemed hopeless. However, God used that defeat to glorify himself and to remind everyone he alone is omnipotent. The Philistines started to have all sorts of problems with the ark—their god fell over and shattered, mice ran rampant, and men were afflicted with tumors.

They could not get rid of that ark fast enough. Israel rejoiced over their apparent good fortune. Samuel gathered them all together and warned them to give themselves over completely to God, to abandon their old ways, their false gods. But when the Philistines learned all Israel was gathering in one location, they feared an uprising and a battle, so they, in turn, went up against Israel.

The people of Israel panicked, but this time, instead of trying to help God fix things, they called upon the Lord. And the hand of the Lord was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel (1 Samuel 7:13).

God had been leading and schooling me in the ways of his grace, and I had been clumsily trying to follow his lead, to let God be in control of my life. But like Adam and Eve in the garden, and all mankind since the fall, my pride got in the way, and I wanted to control all decisions and circumstances. If I prayed hard enough, or often enough, my problems would be solved, obstacles would disappear, and my enemies would be vanquished. I, too, tried to help God, to second-guess what he meant to happen. I even resorted to googling Bible verses that could, no matter how remotely, justify my decisions and actions.

And like the people of Israel, I despaired when all seemed lost, that God had forsaken me. But as long as I kept my eyes on God and trusted in his deliverance, his timing, my heart would stop pounding, and my soul rest in the blessed assurance that is in Jesus. Like the Thessalonians, I had turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven (1 Thessalonians 1:9 ESV).

God not only loves me, he also has chosen me. I must trust in him and imitate Christ in all I do, even when life seems hopeless. Jesus delivers us from the wrath to come. Despite fancy words of prosperity preachers, my faith in Christ is not the secret recipe for happiness and abundance in this life. It does not guarantee freedom from affliction or sorrow or pain. Not in this world anyway. Like Israel learned repeatedly, God is with his people in all circumstances. Through this, God's people reflect upon his glory and the joy of his Holy Spirit, thereby reaching others. Not because we have it so much better, but because they see in us that, despite our circumstances, our faith is a bright, shining light to a world steeped in darkness.

3

Prelude to Madness

We bought a very large motorhome in late 2013, with the plan to live in it part-time in central Florida. The rest of the year, we would return to live in our log home in North Carolina. It sounded like a great plan because our parents insisted they could take care of themselves just fine.

Alex and I were both retired from the military—me in 2001, and he in 2004. After military retirement, I was offered a contractor position managing intelligence assets in Southwest Asia, first in South Carolina, and later in Tampa, Florida. Alex found employment as a civil servant in the logistics career field, also in South Carolina and then Florida. We had bought land in western North Carolina, built a retirement home, and by 2014, we were ready to move.

None of our parents needed us (or so they said), so without a second thought, we said goodbye to parents; hello, retired life! We spent the first six months of 2014 in North Carolina, then back to Florida and the RV. In early 2015, we embarked on a cross-country trip in the Magic Bus. We had a wonderful time, too, which was good because that trip was going to have to hold us over for the next five years.

I was again the black sheep of the family and estranged from my sisters Mary Beth and Nancy. Oddly enough, both my mom and Mary Beth reached out several times in early 2015, wanting to restore our relationship. I should have been suspicious, but seems I was a slow learner.

While on our epic RV trip, my mom's husband, Bill, fell and was in a coma. Mary Beth said he was dying, that Mom was losing her mind, and that she (Mary Beth) wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and for us to hurry. Yeah, I was in no hurry to jump into that drama tornado. As we were not particularly close to Bill, we continued on our trip and decided to stop in Nashville for the memorial service, on the way home.

It was awkward, to say the least, to see my estranged sisters, but they both appeared willing to open the communication channels again. Mom's health and financial well-being were questionable, especially with Bill's death and the loss of his military retirement and VA pension benefits. Of course, wanting to fix everything, I charged right in, assessed the situation, and began a campaign of Save Mom and Make Her Love Me. Predictably, my sisters were more than happy to wash their hands of the whole thing, which, of course, I mistook for being aligned with God's plans.

And so it began.

4

Family, the Ties that Bind

Family ties, the ties that bind…and gag. Yes, I know. Erma Bombeck came up with that line. But no other way accurately describes how I feel. Family ties, inextricably linked by our gene pool. Although, at times, I think I was adopted or so I wished.

I grew up in a home where neither of my parents were close to their siblings or cousins or even to themselves for that matter—-except long enough to make five children, one boy and four girls (David, me, Nancy, Mary Beth, and Karen). When I was nine, my parents divorced. Sadly, divorce often results in separation from grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, so we had very little contact with relatives, other than an occasional visit with my maternal grandparents in Toledo, my great-aunt, Sister Mary Patricia, or encounters with cousins on my dad's side while on our weekend visits with him.

My dad and his only brother, Rob, never really communicated. My mom seldom heard from her brothers and sister (she had alienated all of them), except for the occasional Christmas card. So we grew up thinking that was the norm, that family wasn't meant to be close.

As I grew older, I couldn't help but notice the stark differences between my family and my friends. They celebrated holidays together, called each other to chat about things, got their hair done together, and actually enjoyed each other's company! Not us. We just heard bitter comments about the other parent. Sadly, as I grew older, my sisters and I grew further apart so much so that by the time I was in my twenties, none of us really knew each other at all. Our communication style of choice, learned in the home by watching our role models, was passive-aggressive.

My mentally disabled brother was too much for Mom to handle, so she pushed him on to our dad, and of the four girls, two of us moved in with Dad as soon as we were legally able. That drove an even bigger wedge between each of us and our mom, and I continued through early adulthood with a huge chip on my shoulder. Except for my brother, all my siblings felt forced to choose sides. We were almost never on speaking terms with both parents simultaneously. That was our reality. Sad but true.

My relationship with my mom was tenuous at best. There have been periods of time—some of them extended—during which we barely communicated. I would bemoan to anyone listening how bad I had it, listing