My Parent's Last Lesson

"It's hard to walk away from a career after 22 years."

Before my parents became ill, I was a vice president at IBM. I thrived on adrenaline. I would work 80-hour weeks and do marathons and triathlons on the weekends. At first, when I began caring for my parents, I had the luxury of doing my job while being with them. I would commute from Paris to my parent's home in Ohio then to back to my home in Texas, and then I would start the loop all over again. It was exhausting, and I remember sitting in business meetings, talking about the same issues we'd been talking about for three years and no longer caring. I knew I had to resign. Full retirement was 30 years and early retirement was 25. So, for me, with 22 years, it all just sort of floated away. There was no dinner, no party, no recognition. One day you are there and one day you are not.

"My mother and father were dying by inches."

My mother and father had no plug to pull. They were not on life support. There were hard days. Listening to my father cry as he [mourned] the things he could no longer do because he was quadriplegic and listening to my mother cry, night after night, because her pain was so severe. At one point my mother made me promise to kill her if things

"I felt I was losing...many times."

Our society does not train us in care giving. And, very few of us have experience in talking about end-of-life issues or dealing with that kind of intimacy. We tend to walk and talk around it. I tried to use the same techniques I had used in business, but it doesn't work that way.

"My mother, very wisely, said: 'They can't deal with us dying, you can.'"

There were times when I needed my brother and sister to help me and they couldn't and didn't show up. They did not participate in the care giving. It was very difficult for me --and difficult for my parents -- to live through that. My mother urged me not to hate them for that. She reminded me they were doing the best that they could.

I found a wonderful community of people online which helped me tremendously. I would write a post saying, "I just can't take it anymore," and there would be this incredible response from people going through the same thing. Because it was anonymous, I could say things that I couldn't share with my friends and family.

My mother left a lovely note for [my siblings] and I to find after she died. She said she hoped we would always remain close, now that she and my father were gone. And that indeed we had wings, but we also had roots...Now, my brother, sister and I are closer than we have ever been. We do not judge one another, and we implicitly trust one another.

"I've learned to live beyond the trappings..."

After what I went through, I've come to be more open and be more receptive of accepting help from other people. I've realized that life is not all about achievement. Life is about people and relationships and intimacy. Money is not the meaning of life. I learned this from my parents. They held me when I was first born and weak and unable. I held them when they were at the end of the arc of their lives. This taught me to listen more, to accept and to love people for who they are and not what I want them to be.

"Go out and buy a tombstone with your parents."

Get your parents' stories. Videotape them. Learn what was important to them. Go through their yearbook; ask what they did for their prom. Discuss what they want for the end of their life. What music do they want at their funerals? Go get a tombstone with them. No, it's not a comfortable thing, but it's important.

"We choose what we stand for."

Before, I think people would describe me as a workaholic, driven, intense, capable, competitive, competent, and very self-confident. I think now people would say that I'm generous. I'm a good friend, I'm sensitive, I'm humbled and I'm open. I think if I were to write my epitaph today, I would want it to say: She made a difference. She touched