IF there is a designated survivor for a government in crisis, there is a designated caregiver in the typical Filipino family.
By default, by the norms of our culture and tradition, the family member who is expected to make the ultimate sacrifice of taking care of aging parents is usually the eldest or youngest female sibling, preferably unmarried or separated.
It may look unfair but that’s the way it is. As the tacitly designated martir in the family, the caregiver burden falls on her.
That’s what happened in the case of our parents. Fortunately, our youngest sibling, female and still unmarried, was not alone in handling the thankless task. My three other sisters took turns in nursing and taking care of both our parents in their last years in the house of one of my sisters. As a male sibling, I was not expected to do caregiving chores but I did my share by visiting my parents from time to time and contributing to the common fund reserved for the medical needs of my parents.
My late mother-in-law died at age 86, but in her last three years she went into deep dementia. The youngest two in the family did not hesitate to put on the yoke of taking care of her till the end. And when she died, they were grateful that they were given the opportunity to serve their mother in her last years on earth.
In a few instances, the one who takes on the caregiver burden may even be a son. I know a man named P. who, even in his middle age, took care of his mom in advanced stage of dementia in an uncomplaining and devoted way as only a child would do for his mother: feeding her, giving her medicines, bathing her, changing her nappies, day in and day out, faithfully for years until her death.
There is this old film about a village in ancient Japan that disposed old men and women by bringing them to a remote place in the mountains and leave them there to die all by their lonesome selves. That way they would not bother and burden the family members who were all busy eking out a living. Cruel as it might seem, it was a practice accepted by all members of the family.
I am recalling this film because it’s not easy to take care of parents in the final stage of their journey. There was a joke we used to tell ourselves: “Mahirap magpalaki ng magulang,” referring to the intransigence and stubbornness of parents living with their children. But nowadays magpalaki stretches to mag-alaga all the way to the end.
How many times I heard old folks in the province say to our parents: “Masuwerte ka marami kang anak, may mag-aalaga sa iyo pagtanda mo.” That’s because when a parent grows old in the Philippines, the family members are expected to look after their health needs till they eventually pass away. This obligation is then passed on to the next generation.
In a lot of cases, a parent’s fall or memory decline can suddenly thrust the family into a crisis for which they are totally unprepared. It puts everyone constantly on edge as the parent is brought to the hospital at the slightest emergency. It is draining and exhausting emotionally, physically and financially for the children who are somehow duty-bound to do everything to extend their parents’ lives as long as possible.
Nursing a parent with a major ailment can test the stomach and patience of even a saint. Just consider the case of my wife’s late aunt before her demise, who used to throw her feces on the walls and all over the room. No wonder, contracted caregivers gave up, one after the other.
It’s not just physically exhausting; it also comes with a lot of emotional turmoil. Guilt. Anger. Stress. Depression. These are only a handful of common emotions experienced by a family member tasked to care for a loved one who may have a disability or may be elderly and frail.
One relative confides: “You are supposed to be patient, kind, loving and caring at all times, then you feel bad when that’s not the case.” Another confesses: “No matter what you do, it’s never going to be enough. Here is someone you care about who is suffering, and no matter what you do, you can’t relieve their suffering.” Because she feels her caregiving skills are inadequate, she feels guilty: “I can’t take care of her the way that I would like to.”
But even if she does it out of love and devotion, there is a breaking point. I know someone who runs out of patience looking after a demented parent, treating her like a wayward kid, loudly berating her, just short of physical chastisement. But who are we to judge?
The saddest thing about it is that the family’s designated caregiver sometimes feels so alone. Common complaints include lack of family support and monetary considerations. Sometimes she may spend out of pocket when contributions from other siblings fall short. But most of all, she is underappreciated. As one relative said to my wife: “Gusto ko lang naman kumustahin ako paminsan-minsan.” Many times she questioned herself: “At what point do you say to yourself, ‘I can’t do this anymore?’”
Many times I have heard it from my fellow seniors that in their last years, they wouldn’t want to saddle their children with the heavy burden of being cared for. “When my time is up, I want to go as quietly and as quickly as possible, without fuss, no constant trips to the hospital.” Another puts it simply: “I don’t want to be a problem.”
The question now comes: What can aging parents do now to help lighten a future burden that is inevitably going to come?
For one thing, seniors like me should live healthy lives so as to prevent the onset of major debilitating ailments.
Another thing is to save up for the end days. I know someone who regularly squirreled away some money and put it in a reserve fund. She specifically told her children not to touch that fund. It was exclusively for her medical expenses. True enough, when the time came, that fund saved her children from having to dip into their own pockets. The fund was enough to cover her hospitalization and even internment expenses.
Some parents urge their children to take up nursing or a course on caregiving as insurance that someone in the family has the skills to nurse them in the eventuality they become sick. This may seem self-serving but from another perspective, it is realistic and pragmatic. Hiring a nurse or caregiver is outside the reach of the common Filipino family.
I wish that like in the US, there would be a system in which the family member who takes care of invalid or disabled elderly parents would be given allowance by the government.
The government should consider a way to provide hands-on instruction on how to care for a loved one. Let’s face it, members of the family who are compelled to be caregivers lack the hands-on knowledge to care for someone else. Lifting a parent improperly from a chair or bathtub, for example, can lead to injuries to the sick parent as well as the caregiver. Added to that, a support network is also essential to a caregiver’s emotional status, including counseling.
More and more parents are now living longer with conditions such as cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, and the like. This means more designated martirs in Filipino families will need to answer the call and make the supreme sacrifice.
It’s time to put the spotlight on the designated martir in our respective families, for they are the unrecognized silent heroes. Truly, if there’s a “warrior” who also needs to be given a medal of valor, it’s them.
To them I dedicate the passage from John 15:13 but with a twist: “Greater love hath no woman than this, that a woman devote and sacrifice her time for her parent.”