By Jerry Grimes
The summer of 2018 hit our family like a storm—cancer, disease, and loss pounding us in relentless waves. My wife, Lisa, and I had been married for 37 years by then, long enough to weather good times and bad. But this was different.
That spring I was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Thankfully, it was caught early, staged at zero, and highly treatable. But the C-word still knocked me flat, filling me with fear. Not long after, we learned that Lisa’s sister, Linda, was facing something far worse: Lou Gehrig’s disease, or Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). At the time, Linda was the primary caregiver for my 90-year-old mother-in-law, Betty.
As if that weren’t enough, Lisa began experiencing shortness of breath on some of our weekend hikes—outings we often used to escape and reconnect with God. We brushed it off as allergies or a cold, but after we returned home, a doctor discovered she had a pulmonary embolism.
All this chaos forced a hard decision: what about Betty? She had lived alone for nearly 60 years in her drafty old Indiana home, managing with the help of a monthly house cleaner and Linda for transportation to an endless array of doctor’s appointments. But Linda’s decline made it clear; Betty couldn’t stay there any longer. “Should we offer to have Mom live with us?” Lisa asked.“I don’t think we have a choice,” I said.
Betty wasn’t easy to persuade—she was strong, practical, and tough, the daughter of a German father, but she eventually agreed. Once we cleaned out her home and brought her to South Carolina, she seemed to embrace the change. We gave her our downstairs master suite and moved into the rooms over the garage. “I kind of like my little apartment,” she told us, smiling. And why not? My artist wife had filled her space with all of her favorite things, decorating it as a kind of tribute to her mom’s long, rich life.
Most mornings and many evenings, we’d find Betty in her chair by the window with her open Bible. We often overheard her praying for each family REVERSING ROLES member by name. Sometimes we even heard her cry out to God in grief over losing Linda. When COVID struck, isolation hit her especially hard. Not attending church—something she had done faithfully her whole life—left her feeling cut off. We shared the livestream, but it wasn’t the same. To protect her, we stayed home, too, which made the season even more difficult.
Caring for Betty was like raising another child—only without the cuteness or hope of independence. Yet, there were plenty of bright spots. Betty’s quirks kept us laughing. Whether it was her obsession with order, her precise routines, or her fierce opinions, she never held back. And yet she was tender, grateful, and kind. She delighted in holidays, birthdays, and Sunday dinners with our grown children and our grandson, Jack. Every afternoon when Jack bounded through the door after school, Betty greeted him with a few of her trademark Hershey’s Kisses. To her, they weren’t just candy—they were medicine. “They keep me regular,” she insisted, though no doctor ever confirmed the theory.
By the summer of 2020, Betty’s health began to fail. She lost her appetite and weight slipped away. A CT scan revealed that her gallbladder had descended and perforated her intestine. At 92, surgery wasn’t an option—Betty wouldn’t have chosen it anyway. We brought her home, where she spent her final week surrounded by family. With Lisa and our daughter, Christina, at her side, Betty struggled momentarily, eventually passing into eternity in her apartment.
You never know how God will call you to serve; sometimes it’s through the ordinary act of simply loving someone. Caring for Betty wasn’t easy, but it was a gift. Lisa grew closer to her mother than ever before, and our children and grandson came to know their grandmother and great-grandmother in unforgettable ways. In the end, whatever effort we gave was worth its weight in gold. Love like that never goes to waste, it leaves behind a legacy that outlives us all.
If you find yourself, or someone you know, in a similar position and in need of general direction, Elizabeth Trenbeath has graciously shared her personal experience and recommendations with us. Elizabeth was the primary caregiver (along with support from a local nursing facility) for her mother, Virginia “Gina” McCuen, many years before she passed away in 2024. Upon realizing her mother’s specific needs and limitations, she developed a creative and compassionate care approach. She is delighted to pass some of these tips along to Our Town Magazine readers in an effort to reduce stress and confusion for families in similar situations:
• Set a meeting with the family and other caregivers every three months to compare notes, express concerns and progress.
• Organize your loved one’s belongings. It is easier for everyone to quickly and easily find clothing and accessories that match.
• Find a way to worship. If your loved one can not make it to church services, bring the celebration to them online.
• Stop trying to lift your loved one. The Hoyer Lift is a God given invention that assists lifting your loved one from the bed to a wheelchair.
• Hang pictures, display a digital photo frame, or showcase a vibrant collage to honor your loved one’s youth. This serves as a subtle reminder of the person’s life, contributions, aspirations, interests, and achievements.
• Try not to become jaded, even when they seem to make a turn for the worst. As Mom once reminded me when I asked her for some words of wisdom, she said ‘never give up and praise the Lord’.
Despite the best of plans for the later years, there is no way for adult children to be completely prepared for reversing roles with their parents. Remember, outside help can assist with tasks that are outside of your capabilities. Establishing boundaries of what you are capable of, and comfortable doing, will allow you to create a comprehensive plan of care that will honor your loved one and protect your peace.
