Prisoner Transfer

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

“We want to be in YOUR family!” hotel staff would buoyantly exclaim in response to my kin’s general tomfoolery and raucous laughter. Affectionately dubbed “the prisoner transfer,” we siblings would convene semiannually in random Interstate 57 motels to pass the aging-parent baton allowing both ourselves and parents a change of scenery and posse of caregivers. Our planned weekend overnights to share the load would occur somewhere between our cities and include a rollicking catching up, routine medical updates, and typical slapstick fodder of our collective DNA. 

Our parents would spend much of the year in southern warmth, with summer and fall spent in the more comfortable north. In their healthier past, Dad would drive from their home (at the time, out East) to each of our homes for visits. He and Mom always enjoyed the open road with its scenery and solace. Once health issues pointed to the need for kinder climates, they moved south.  Family gatherings then became chauffeured along the I-57 corridor connecting all of us. 

Whenever a health emergency required an extended stay, these sojourns resembled Gilligan’s famous “3-hour tour” during which we were all marooned on Healthcare Island far longer than anyone anticipated. No matter how many smoke signals went up, there would be no rescue boat in sight until stability was confirmed by medical professionals. Even Mom and Dad not-so-quietly expressed readiness for a change of scenery and “staff” after unfortunate, and sometimes prolonged, patient incarcerations. 

Deftly passing the hot potato continued after Mom died. Dad’s loneliness was ever present and a new, cruel diagnoses of dementia conjured the occasional “sighting” of Mom, although thankfully not in a cab of a random trucker. Mom was an old-fashioned girl and even her spirit seemed to prefer staying put at either end of the ride. 

In addition to the great fun we all had at these meet-ups, we most remember the mixed emotions on both sides of the swap. The outgoing sibling-in-charge, sporting a wide Cheshire cat smile, would be giddy to pass the parental torch. The incoming recipient, however, maintained the wan smile of guarded optimism for a smooth stay, sometimes accompanied with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze and associated deep breaths. Levity, however, was our superpower, tempering the most difficult times with grace and acceptance of everyone’s mental station at the time. Motel staff would even be part of the fun, no doubt thankful for the comedic circus in stark contrast to more subdued business clientele.

We all fatigued together as Mom and Dad’s health grew  ever more complex and time consuming to manage. As  kids with our own families to look after, helping our  parents navigate a healthcare system far beyond the technology and protocols they had grown up with was enormously challenging on many levels. But we persevered in our respectful commitment to the ones who raised us. They were, after all, the ultimate prisoners of their poor health. It was the least we could do to look out for them as they had once looked out for us.

Financial considerations aside, it was our desire to keep parents with family. We loved them enormously; they too were most grateful for our care and our companionship. Despite trepidation on everyone’s part, our prisoner transfers were always a good time and, in the end, helped strengthen the ties that bind. 

One notable demand of caring for our aging parents was balancing the bittersweet, exhausting mix of yearning on everyone’s part for freedom from the tension of waiting for another shoe to drop, and the realization that our time together was limited, precious, and to be made and to be savored. 

Most days, we did our best.

Now, my siblings and I are free of the balancing act. And it’s only a matter of time until the next round of more frequent interstate tarrying to visit aging or sick loved ones. Such is the stark reality of life. 

When that time comes for you, remember to share the fun with those beyond your own circle, preferably in the middle of nowhere, free from distractions, and with humorous aplomb. That was our elixir for extracting the most gratitude and memories from difficult times. An elixir that nourishes us to this day. 

Driving on I-57 still makes me smile. I’m convinced that somewhere along this route, there is a gray-haired couple, together again with hands clasped, in the cab of a very nice semi, taking in the sites.