I’ve first hand knowledge that the responsibilities, stresses and strains of elder care are no joke, nevertheless I’d like to share with you a couple of lighter memories from my experience.
My father had a pacemaker which involved regular check-ups. What turned out to be the final check-up was when his dementia was relatively advanced and he’d be described as frail, if still a big man, being 6′ 4″ and built to match. My sister-in-law and I were tasked with taking him for this appointment and, on arrival, let out a whoop to discover there was a disabled parking space immediately outside the door of the heart department and, even better, that a wheelchair was available.
Feeling luck was on our side as things continued to go smoothly, we foolishly started to relax. Unfortunately, by the end of the appointment, my Dad was tired and had used up his limited supply of cognitive and motor skills. So when it came time for us to manoeuvre him back into the car, nothing was working. But bless him, he neither complained nor got cross, and instead we three ended up having a fit of the giggles at the sight we must’ve made caught up in our three-way slow dance π
Fortunately a passing medical professional took pity on us, and we received a firm lecture about following her instructions to the letter. It was most unlike the three of us to comply so meekly, but we held it together until the transfer was a success, then giggled all the way home.
The second memory is that of my grandmother who was what could politely be described as quite the trial to live with, even before beginning to suffer with dementia in her later years. One evening, in a moment of inspiration, instead of delivering the demanded large glass of whiskey at the appointed hour, my mother told my grandmother that she’d given up drinking. And, just for a moment, my grandmother couldn’t remember whether she had or hadn’t….
That moment of inspiration meant the final years of caring for my grandmother were made so much easier. And who’d have thought a benefit of dementia would be that a long-term alcoholic could forget she drank? π
Where do you stand on the subject of black humour? Do you think there are subjects which should be excluded?
Β© Debs Carey, 2024
I’m all for dark comedy. I think sometimes the only thing we can do is laugh.
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Yup, so true.
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Iβve been leaving dark comedy to the politicians, but I canβt top your story about your grandmother!! π
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What doesn’t kill you gives you problematic coping skills and a very dark sense of humor. Or something like that. I once asked my husband what would be the warning sign that I am not doing okay. He said (possibly hopefully), “You stop talking?” I said, “No, I stop making jokes.”
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You all giggling reminds me so much of me, my mom, and my dad. Honestly, I donβt know how weβd get through anything without laughter.
Thank you for sharing these storiesβthey had me laughing out loud today! πβ€οΈ
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God bless humor. Just think how much fun we have with jokes about Trump and Putin. We can’t escape old age, death, cruel dictators, and war, but, dog-gone it, we can enjoy laughing about it all.
Also, it’s nice to have a sister to share family laughs with.
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I know exactly what you mean there Jane – I tend to do likewise. But, yes, that one’s a corker π
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Autumn, I can tell that you recognise the scenario all to well.
In fairness to Andy, Himself would probably make the same mistake, but that’s it exactly… when the sense of humour fails, you know it’s really serious.
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Really glad to hear I made you LOL Kari β€
My SIL was an absolute angel during those years, and fortunately we shared the same sense of humour. No wonder my Dad loved her so (and my brother too!)
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Totally Nicki. And those two characters are enough to make us all weep if we don’t get to laugh – and laugh a lot.
Fortunately, my family most share the same sense of humour (passed on to us by my Dad). We laugh a lot when we get together.
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And whoβd have thought a benefit of dementia would be that a long-term alcoholic could forget she drank?
That’s priceless. I’m laughing. I like dark humor, especially the kind wherein all you can do is laugh so as to not to cry.
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Aww, I love that. Thank goodness for our memories and storiesβthey keep a part of them alive. β€οΈ
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Black humour is the best humour. Bring it on! Telling your grandmother she gave up booze was a stroke of genius IMO.
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It was a wonderful moment for sure Ally – I doff my cap to my mother for her moment of inspiration.
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They do indeed Kari β€
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We all seem to be on the same page about black humour I’m delighted to see π And yes indeed, that was a stroke of genius on my mother’s part.
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I’m so on the page, I even used your spelling of “humour” in order to show solidarity (even though my computer underlines it in red to show me it’s wrong).
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I think if we didn’t have these kinds of moments, we wouldn’t survive through it. I still think of those now that my dad’s gone and it makes me smile.
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That did make me smile Mark π and I was remiss in not acknowledging it.
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You’re so right. As my Dad was a great humourist, I suspect he’d believe it’s the best way to remember him.
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That is a hilarious anecdote about your grandmother. And it actually worked???? Brilliant on your mother’s part! π – Marty
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It did Marty. And yes, it was an absolute stroke of genius on my mother’s part, especially as it was an off the cuff impulse and not thought through at all.
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