Some of Cary’s earliest memories are of Nana’s sun-splashed
New Jersey apartment, make-believe play, and being
cherished. Nana didn’t indulge her completely – Cary had
rules to follow – but Nana showered love and paid attention,
two things Cary needed most.
Back then, Lorene H. Jackson had been a formidable force, a
no-nonsense, feisty and independent, powerful businesswoman
who still went to her Philadelphia office well into her
nineties. A decade later, the summer she turned 100, a
bladder infection set her low and she became frail,
sometimes rattled. Because there were complications and
family issues, Cary moved Nana into her home, a rectory near
the church where Cary’s husband was a minister.
On both sides, it would take some getting-used-to.
The Cary family was a busy one: there were older children in
the household, Cary had founded a growing non-profit to
nurture, and there was a congregation to attend to. For her
part, Nana could be irascible; she obviously hated being
dependent, fretted about her possessions, and she couldn’t
be alone for long.
Tensions rose. And then Nana began to seriously decline.
Falls and confusion became all too common. Nana’s hearing,
which hadn’t been good for some time, worsened. And yet, she
outlived her allotted hospice time, and her memory remained
relatively sharp. She had enough spring in her life to make
demands and to keep connections to family and friends.
Still, there was no denying it: Cary’s grandmother was
dying…
Open the cover of Ladysitting, and you’re immediately
yanked into a story with an ending you already know. Get
past that initial, irresistible pull, though, and it may
feel like a challenge to continue: author Lorene Cary seems
to lose focus.
Was that done accidentally, or by design?
Doesn’t matter, because it works to show readers what it’s
like to care for someone who’s elderly or terminally ill,
while trying to do self-care and maintain some amount of
control over the uncontrollable. There’s linear thought
here, but only enough to keep readers awake. Frustration
comes roaring through, but not so that compassion slips.
Confusion is everywhere in this tale, but it doesn’t forsake
compassion. Cary adds careful amounts of family history for
clarity, even daring to include occasional humorous
anecdotes – not inappropriately, but in enhancement of what
is one of the more deftly-written, truthful accounts in this
genre.
The key here is patience because this is a tough story to
know. That’s especially true for millennials and older
GenXers: Ladysitting is good, but it could offer a
small glimpse into your future.
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