Taxes and Tires

As I look back over the past twenty-four hours, I realize they have been focused primarily on caring for my parents’ caregivers.  Last night I discovered that our weekday caregiver was having problems getting her state tax refund.  After waiting a month, she called to find out why she had not received the monies due her.

IRS tech-nese can be challenging even for those well versed in English, let alone those for whom English is a second language.  We spent 2.5 hours jumping through hoops to Internet-search the right agency, make early morning calls in English and Spanish, write the required letter and take her to get it notarized. April 15 is not exactly the best day to make a call about a refund!  If she had not called, though, who knows how long it would have been before she would have been contacted.  Yet, when the tables were turned and the state wanted money from her, she said they communicated quickly!  I know our state is in fiscal distress, but so are individuals.  Service should not be one-way.

When I returned to my house, I started in on my personal “to do” list.  But it was interrupted when I got a call from our weekend caregiver asking if this was my husband’s scheduled day off; she had a flat tire and wanted help changing it.  It wasn’t, but my Dad and I offered to help her.  

I’d like to say we went and 1-2-3 replaced the tire with a donut.  NOT!  The tool to remove the special anti-theft nut was nowhere to be found.  She thought it might be at a storage unit several miles away so Dad took her there while I finished jacking up the car and loosened the other nuts.  She found the tool, and we left her able to get to work at Mom & Dad’s tomorrow.

This was not exactly the day I had planned, but how often are they?   Caring is a two-way street.

Moving On

Boston is a place of special memories for me.  Paul and I honeymooned there, helped with a Habitat for Humanity build after completing construction on our home, attended a marriage seminar, celebrated our anniversary, helped move our son Tim in eight years ago, sat in on Harvard Business School classes, attended HBS graduation, helped move Tim, visited churches, theaters and sampled a smorgasbord of Beantown eateries through thirty-three years.

Recently I made more deposits into my Boston memory bank, spending a long weekend with Tim.  You’ll never guess what we did.  I was able to express tangible care by helping my son clean, pack and move most of his worldly goods from one apartment to another in preparation for his marriage to Grace.   

A friend driving to a conference near Boston had asked if she could deliver anything to Tim.  First I thought of stuff to send the 300 miles, and then I thought of sending myself.  I am glad I did.  

My Jersey country boy has become a mature city man.  In two days, my pedometer—and the aching soles of my feet—testified that we took more than 25,000 steps (nearly 8 miles) in a city with hills and a fourth-floor walkup apartment.  Tim’s ability to navigate the streets and hard conversations were impressive.  He gave me a tour, pointing out places where he had worked, where he had asked Grace to marry him and other special spots.  I also heard him deal gracefully with several touchy issues in a way that helped the other person feel understood as well as understand why change was necessary.

We dealt with lots of “stuff,” including 2.5 years of recycling, items for Goodwill and things past their usefulness.  When going through papers, I noticed an envelope with my name on it. Tim had written and addressed a note of thanks to me over a year ago but had never quite gotten a stamp on it.  He hand delivered it and doubled the thanks.  

Helping Tim move was arduous even with a borrowed car.  Finding parking is a challenge, especially since many areas are reserved for residents and the car we used had NJ plates.  With construction blocking access to the main entrance at the new apartment, we used the loading dock and luggage carts to save our backs and move Tim’s things.  How different Boston looks from the 24th floor!  

I believe helping Tim with the move and spending time interacting with him are preparing me for the change in relationship that marriage brings.  I look forward to a Boston wedding and adding another daughter to the family soon.

Boundaries?

Since the last blog post, my caregiving has meant dealing with a skin cancer surgery, an ER visit, filling seven prescriptions, and calling four doctors with competing advice on dealing with an infected toe.  Then there’s helping with tax returns for two families and editing the resume of an unemployed family member, plus my own endoscopy-colonoscopy double header and several other tests to determine the source of abdominal pain.   

When, as a responsible first-born, do I take a break from caring for others to care for myself?  My desires feel like wants; others have needs.  Is there enough Elsie to go around?

I was invited to accept a volunteer leadership position at church.  While thinking and praying about the decision, the “what ifs” sprouted like dandelions.  What if my parents’ health needs consume more and more of my time and energy and I have to step down?  What if my health is being compromised by helping my parents?  

Blogging is making me accountable to reflect, to be more intentional about my life.  But sometimes my words seem to dangle in cyberspace.  I would love to have responses bounce back at me on how to honor family members while caring for self...or any related issues.  I look forward to your comments.  By the way, in faith, I said “yes” to the leadership position.