Conflict
Conflicting Coping Strategies
Research, including findings published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, explores varied internal coping mechanisms such as humor, alcohol use, and anger among seniors and their caregivers, indicating that individuals cope with stress differently.
My dad was my mom’s primary caregiver for nearly twenty years. Over the years, as her Parkinson’s disease and dementia worsened, her personality changed for the worse.
During her pre-Parkinson years, she was carefree. She would say what was on her mind without much of a filter. Luckily, she was also very kind-hearted, so she rarely offended anyone. My mother’s way of coping with difficult moments was to make light of the situation.
I recall a day when her tremors, those unbidden intruders, came to call. With a twinkle in her eye, she christened them “ding-dong,” a whimsical moniker for a foe that sought to undermine her. This levity, a defiant stand against the encroaching darkness, was her armor, her way of softening the edges of a reality that grew increasingly harsh.
My father, on the other hand, bore the weight of her illness like a milestone around his neck. Where my mother saw a chance for levity, he saw only the specter of loss, a grim reminder of an uncle consumed by the same disease. His demeanor during her tremor-filled episodes was one of palpable tension, a silent rebuke to any who dared find humor amidst the pain. His love for her was a fierce, protective thing, yet it left little room for the lightness with which she sought to combat her suffering.
Many nights I saw my father drinking hard liquor before going to bed. I assumed that this was his way of coping with not only his wife’s condition but also the shaking bed he shared with her. It was in these quiet moments of solitude that he sought solace from the relentless march of the disease and the tremulous nights that echoed the unrest of his heart.
This ritual, though unspoken, was a testament to the myriad ways we seek to cope with the unfathomable, a stark contrast to my mother’s laughter in the face of adversity.
My parents’ divergent paths through the storm of illness—a dance of humor and solemnity—painted a poignant portrait of love’s complexity, each coping mechanism a reflection of their individual battles within the war they faced together.
Surprisingly both my episodes of laughing and crying hysterically as coping mechanisms resulted in cathartic release and made me feel lighter.
A Tale of Two Coping Mechanisms
Claire and Her Parents’ Story
Claire watched her parents navigate the storm of her mother’s illness with contrasting approaches that sometimes left her feeling torn. Her mother, Anne, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a disease that slowly eroded her physical abilities but left her spirit undeterred.
“Claire, did you see where I left my glasses?” Anne called from the living room, her voice light despite the tremors in her hands.
“On the kitchen counter, Mom,” Claire replied, walking over to help. Anne’s coping mechanism was humor. She would often make jokes about her condition, calling her walker “Speedy” and her tremors “the shakies.”
“You know, Speedy here might just enter a race one day,” Anne said with a chuckle as Claire handed her the glasses.
Claire smiled, appreciating her mother’s ability to find light in the darkness. But her father, Robert, had a different way of dealing with the situation. He was often somber, carrying the weight of Anne’s illness on his shoulders like a heavy boulder.
“Robert, can you help me with my shoes?” Anne asked one morning.
Robert nodded, his expression serious. “Of course, Anne.” He gently slipped her shoes on, but his eyes betrayed a deep sadness.
Claire noticed the contrast more acutely during family dinners. Anne would crack jokes, trying to lighten the mood, while Robert would remain silent, his face etched with worry.
“Mom, you always find a way to make us laugh,” Claire said one evening, trying to bridge the gap between her parents’ coping styles.
“It’s the only way I know how to deal with it,” Anne replied, her eyes twinkling. “Laughter is my best medicine.”
Robert sighed, his eyes meeting Claire’s. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. It’s hard to laugh when I’m so worried.”
Claire felt the tension between them, the different ways they processed the same reality. “We all handle things differently, Dad. Maybe we can try to meet in the middle.”
One evening, after a particularly challenging day with Anne struggling more than usual, Claire found her father alone in the kitchen, staring out the window. She approached him gently. “Dad, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for all of us. But Mom needs both our strengths—your careful attention and my attempts to keep things light.”
Robert turned to her, his eyes tired but grateful. “I know, Claire. It’s just… seeing her like this, it’s not easy. But you’re right. We need to balance each other out.”
As weeks passed, the atmosphere at home began to shift. They found a rhythm that worked for them. Robert started participating more in Anne’s light-hearted banter, and Anne allowed herself to lean on Robert during her tougher days. Claire continued to be the glue, reminding them both that it was okay to feel their emotions deeply and still find moments of joy.
One night, as they sat together watching a movie, Anne made a particularly funny comment about the plot. Robert chuckled, squeezing her hand. Claire looked at her parents, feeling a sense of peace. They were navigating this storm together, each contributing their unique strengths to weather it.
Contrasting Strengths
Joyce and Georgia’s Story
Georgia’s mother, Joyce, had been battling rheumatoid arthritis for years, and despite the pain, she always wore a smile. Her coping mechanism was a mix of positivity and determination.
“Mom, are you ready for your appointment?” Georgia asked as she helped Joyce into the car.
“Yes, dear. Let’s get this over with,” Joyce said, her voice cheerful. “Maybe I’ll get a lollipop at the doctor’s office,” she joked, winking at Georgia.
Georgia laughed, grateful for her mother’s lightheartedness. It made the difficult days a bit easier. But her uncle Greg, who lived with them to help out, had a different approach. He was pragmatic, almost to a fault, and his seriousness often clashed with Joyce’s optimism.
“Georgia, make sure you bring the insurance papers,” Greg reminded her as they left the house. “We don’t want any surprises.”
“Got it, Uncle Greg,” Georgia said, trying to balance his meticulous nature with her mother’s carefree attitude.
During the doctor’s appointment, Joyce cracked jokes with the nurse while Greg went over every detail of the treatment plan with a fine-tooth comb. Their contrasting styles were evident, and Georgia found herself caught in the middle, appreciating both their strengths.
On the drive home, Joyce looked at Georgia and said, “You know, Greg means well. He just wants to make sure everything is perfect.”
“I know, Mom. And you both handle things in your own way,” Georgia replied, glancing at Greg in the rearview mirror.
“Sometimes I wish he’d lighten up a bit,” Joyce said with a sigh, though her tone remained gentle.
Greg leaned forward, his expression earnest. “And sometimes I wish you’d take things more seriously, Joyce. But I guess that’s why we balance each other out.”
Georgia smiled, feeling a sense of unity despite the differences. “You both have your ways of coping, and that’s okay.”
Over time, Georgia learned to navigate the dynamic between her mother and uncle. She saw the value in Greg’s thoroughness and Joyce’s positivity, and she used both to provide the best care for her mother. Their contrasting strengths became a source of strength for Georgia, helping her to support her family with compassion and understanding. They were two sides of the same coin, each offering a different kind of support that was essential in their journey together.
