I have often been told that times in life would not be as picture perfect as I would want them to be - that hard times would come rushing towards me like a stampede, but given time I would learn and mature from them. I will never forget the first day my father brought his schizophrenic mother home to stay with us - we didn't have the money to afford a nursing home and my father's siblings had seemed to turn a blind eye to taking care of her so he took it upon himself to do the task. To tell the truth, as far back as I can remember my father has been almost solely taking care of her. Buying groceries and driving to another parish just to provide her with food while he had siblings that lived around the corner from her that sometimes would not lift a finger or show any concern. It was only a matter of time until he had brought her in to live with us.
At the time I was quite naive to the condition that she had until I began to experience it first hand; her talking to inanimate objects and people that either did not exist or were no longer alive. I remember once she came to us asking for her mother, when she herself was about the age of 84. Not to mention the constant yelling, screaming, cursing and of course arguing, especially with my parents. It is easy to say that her presence here has made my home an uneasy place to be. I was so embarrassed about her that I didn't want anyone to come to my house and I was always saddened when I heard my friends talk about all the good experiences they had shared with their grandparents. I thought that it was so unfair to have her at my house and Ii kept wondering why my father would give up the serenity of our home for that, that person.
It was not until one night at a family meeting that my father asked us to be more patient with his mother. And then it dawned on me, that despite all the struggles we have had to face because of my grandmother, she was still family, and my father still loved her. Out of all the people with the blunt of the stress and the most provoked by her behaviour was my father, and he himself knows how upset she can make him, but he loves her nonetheless. It wasn't until I put myself in my father's shoes that I truly realized how he feels; that was enough to bring about some more patience and compassion in me. Since then I have changed the way I interact with her. Even though she still lives with us and can still be a burden at times, now that we see her as family and not as a burden, times don't seem to be so distressing. I guess things are a lot easier to handle now that we share the same compassion as my father.
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