Photo credit: Sophie Cécile
We were just past our first year of marriage when my husband’s parents opened up to us about their cognitive decline. They told us they had two options: move into a nursing home, or live with us.
They did their research, letting us know that if they were able to get into one of the few remaining facilities, it would not only be far away, but it would wipe out their savings in less than a year.
My partner and I feared the first option, wondering about their quality of life and what it would mean for us as a family. How often would we be able to visit them? How easily could we get to them in case of an emergency?
We decided the better option would be to buy a house together and live under one roof. While we weren’t expecting the next chapter of our lives to look like this, we couldn’t ignore how we would benefit: being surrounded by family, combining our incomes, having a chance to invest in property, and splitting the mortgage.
I expected changes, but I didn’t realize it would lead to my own empowerment.
We had to find the right balance between helping and overstepping
After a few weeks of living together, my husband and I noticed his parents developed a routine of retreating upstairs whenever we came home. We appreciated that they wanted to give us space, but we didn’t want them to feel banished.
With some encouragement, they started to feel more comfortable in the shared spaces. Walking in the door was often met with a sigh of relief, “Oh, it’s a good thing you’re home! We couldn’t figure this out!” However, they didn’t always want — or need — our help.
Whether it was refilling a prescription or helping them set up a new gadget, it was impossible to disregard their moments of distress. I often felt like I had to drop what I was doing aside to give them a hand, and my husband felt the same, becoming familiar with watching his bowl of ice cream melt as he helped his parents with little tasks. Without request, I’d jump to help my mother-in-law carry a basket of laundry up the steps so she could have a free hand to grab the railing. Our time was no longer our own, individually and as a pair.
I could tell it was slowly starting to irritate my mother-in-law whenever I took the initiative. At first, she’d assure me, “You were in the middle of doing something. Do not stop what you’re doing.” The need for words quickly faded. Each time she bent to clean something on the floor, she put her hand up to mimic a stop sign: I’ve got it.
We knew we had to adapt, to balance being diligent while not getting in the way of their independence. At the same time, we started to see more of their decline through the repetition of questions and conversations.
I’ve learned about boundaries and communication while we’ve lived together
While his parents are aware and honest about their state, we try to avoid making them feel self-conscious about their memory issues, particularly in the moment. We don’t call attention to the fact that we’re having certain conversations again, or to their contradictory behaviors, unless it is necessary for their safety.
As we move toward the six-month mark of living together, it’s become evident that these efforts are not only helping them, but they’ve also helped me learn to communicate more effectively. I can self-edit and discern what is most important to tell them instead of overwhelming them with information all at once.
Watching my mother-in-law advocate for what she can and can’t do is also helping me do the same for myself. It’s becoming easier to be honest when I disagree, have an idea, or am focusing on a different task at hand. It helps that each time I do so, it is well-received.
There will always be a standard I hold, a responsibility I feel and pride myself on; deciding to move in together means helping care for them. While I need to be diligent to step in whenever necessary, it doesn’t mean it has to be without boundaries, for us all.
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