I've had to deal with many different nurses and nurse aides and it's always complicated. On the one hand, part of their job is to listen and become part of the family. On the other hand, if they do that too well or take a serious personal interest in the patient (like, you know, a thinking, complex, human being) then they are characterized as exploitative and manipulating the elderly.
My mom has a team of nurses who stop by every day to check on my dad, who has been bed-bound for several years. In many ways, these nurses have become apart of the family. They are more close to my mom than I am by now. I stop in, do my tour of duty, and then split.
My mom has bought paintings from these nurses, given away stuff, she gave a huge loan to a friend/helper. Part of me balked at these interactions. Yes, it's all right to love my parents, take care of them, be treated as a family, but GOD FORBID, property or money is exchanged. It's shameful. I caught myself bristling at a personal connection that I felt crossed whatever professional line I deemed appropriate. I felt a certain way and then told myself 'Aurin, shut the fuck up. You're not here. She's lonely. She has money and time.' We are human beings. We are allowed to be lonely. We are allowed to make personal connections in our later years with ppl of different classes or races. But as a culture we are so suspicious of different classes mixing, and/or different races. We assume it's exploitative because mone is involved. So pretty much poor people should work for the rich, eat crumbs, not show any of their personal sides, and be loving/caring/wonderful all the time b/c...it would make me comfortable?!? It's insane. And yet, a part of me thinks this way because there is a huge part of my brain dedicated to real estate/capitalism. Family -removed of deep love- becomes an exchange of services and capital. When parents age, one begins to think about the capital they represent more than the human beings they are and continue to be in my absence.
We can't talk about any of this. It's uncomfortable. So we sit on this enormous mountain of thoughts/feelings/capitalistic thoughts. We visit our parents and, when things become too difficult or we start digging into that mountain beneath our feet, we pass them off on the help. It's an unfair situation to my parents and to the nurses' aides.
My sister and I reacted in the opposite way. We ran away from the capital. I don't know if this is mature or cowardly. When my grandmother was dying she wanted us to come to the lawyer about the will and turning over the house to me or my sister. We both refused. We didn't want to think about her death and the house involved. We said the usual 'oh you're healthy' or 'oh it's not that bad' or 'I love you grandma, I don't want anything from you.' But she WANTED to give that house to us. She worked her whole life for it. That property was a symbol of her devotion and care. It was one of the few things she could give us and I turned it down out of fear that I would look like a vulture; as if being aware of property transference between families and trying to plan for it makes one a heinous vampire. Instead of sitting and having a conversation, I ran. She left the house to me and my sister and neither one of us wanted to deal with it. So the real vultures started to come out when my grandmother died. People from the neighborhood breaking in and stealing wiring, paneling. Real estate brokers who buy black people's property in cash so they can undercut market value and I can cheat on my taxes. The vultures swarmed that property which was a sign of my grandmother's life. Her home. That's when I realized what my grandmother was trying to do and I felt so ashamed of myself for not going to the lawyer's office, for not being there to have a sensible adult conversation about death/taxes/property/family.
My mom took over, hired contractors to fix things up, and put it on the market. By grace, we sold it before it was ripped apart by vandals or burned by drug addicts using it for a crack den. And we got a little bit of money. Now if my grandmother had a nurse living with her who had kids, would I give her the house? Would I give a completely empty house that I don't want to someone who could really use it and raise a family there, or would I be so selfish that I would rather sell it for scraps?
Anyway, if my mom or dad got a nice nurse who was being nice to them, and they fell in love, I would feel extremely conflicted. And then I would tell myself 'Aurin, shut the fuck up. If they're happy and this person is sane, then let it go on.' Yes it might be exploitative. But life is short and who gives a fuck about property when you're alone in a giant house?
My mom has a team of nurses who stop by every day to check on my dad, who has been bed-bound for several years. In many ways, these nurses have become apart of the family. They are more close to my mom than I am by now. I stop in, do my tour of duty, and then split.
My mom has bought paintings from these nurses, given away stuff, she gave a huge loan to a friend/helper. Part of me balked at these interactions. Yes, it's all right to love my parents, take care of them, be treated as a family, but GOD FORBID, property or money is exchanged. It's shameful. I caught myself bristling at a personal connection that I felt crossed whatever professional line I deemed appropriate. I felt a certain way and then told myself 'Aurin, shut the fuck up. You're not here. She's lonely. She has money and time.' We are human beings. We are allowed to be lonely. We are allowed to make personal connections in our later years with ppl of different classes or races. But as a culture we are so suspicious of different classes mixing, and/or different races. We assume it's exploitative because mone is involved. So pretty much poor people should work for the rich, eat crumbs, not show any of their personal sides, and be loving/caring/wonderful all the time b/c...it would make me comfortable?!? It's insane. And yet, a part of me thinks this way because there is a huge part of my brain dedicated to real estate/capitalism. Family -removed of deep love- becomes an exchange of services and capital. When parents age, one begins to think about the capital they represent more than the human beings they are and continue to be in my absence.
We can't talk about any of this. It's uncomfortable. So we sit on this enormous mountain of thoughts/feelings/capitalistic thoughts. We visit our parents and, when things become too difficult or we start digging into that mountain beneath our feet, we pass them off on the help. It's an unfair situation to my parents and to the nurses' aides.
My sister and I reacted in the opposite way. We ran away from the capital. I don't know if this is mature or cowardly. When my grandmother was dying she wanted us to come to the lawyer about the will and turning over the house to me or my sister. We both refused. We didn't want to think about her death and the house involved. We said the usual 'oh you're healthy' or 'oh it's not that bad' or 'I love you grandma, I don't want anything from you.' But she WANTED to give that house to us. She worked her whole life for it. That property was a symbol of her devotion and care. It was one of the few things she could give us and I turned it down out of fear that I would look like a vulture; as if being aware of property transference between families and trying to plan for it makes one a heinous vampire. Instead of sitting and having a conversation, I ran. She left the house to me and my sister and neither one of us wanted to deal with it. So the real vultures started to come out when my grandmother died. People from the neighborhood breaking in and stealing wiring, paneling. Real estate brokers who buy black people's property in cash so they can undercut market value and I can cheat on my taxes. The vultures swarmed that property which was a sign of my grandmother's life. Her home. That's when I realized what my grandmother was trying to do and I felt so ashamed of myself for not going to the lawyer's office, for not being there to have a sensible adult conversation about death/taxes/property/family.
My mom took over, hired contractors to fix things up, and put it on the market. By grace, we sold it before it was ripped apart by vandals or burned by drug addicts using it for a crack den. And we got a little bit of money. Now if my grandmother had a nurse living with her who had kids, would I give her the house? Would I give a completely empty house that I don't want to someone who could really use it and raise a family there, or would I be so selfish that I would rather sell it for scraps?
Anyway, if my mom or dad got a nice nurse who was being nice to them, and they fell in love, I would feel extremely conflicted. And then I would tell myself 'Aurin, shut the fuck up. If they're happy and this person is sane, then let it go on.' Yes it might be exploitative. But life is short and who gives a fuck about property when you're alone in a giant house?
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