The Sandwich Generation: the phase of life that bites

I’m currently on my way home from a conference in Clearwater Beach, Florida.  It was a great event in a beautiful location.  I had the opportunity to connect with other women executives and as part of conference work and socializing, I found myself immersed in conversations with other women regarding work and life commitments and the balancing act that it takes to keep all the balls in the air.  One conversation in particular stood out to me, and it involved me getting up early to take part in a morning yoga session that never took place due to the instructor not showing up.  Myself and four other ladies had the opportunity visit while waiting for the instructor and one lady used the term “sandwich generation”.  I perked up at the word sandwich (I love sandwiches) and soon learned she was referring to my age group of women who are positioned between taking care of their children on one side and aging parents on the other – hence the term sandwich.  Brilliant!  Upon googling the term, I found that the sandwich generation is really “a thing” and something I could totally relate to.  We talked about how common it was for our spouses and/or significant others to have massive amounts of sick, vacation and flex time on the books while we had significantly less because we were the ones taking care of others.  I am lucky because my husband has always been super supportive and has done more than his fair share of staying home with sick kids, taking the dogs to the vet and meeting plumbers at noon.  However, it was me driving the 542 miles (one way) on a weekly basis after my father suffered an aneurysm to lend support and help my mom, as well as the massive amount of time and travel I spent trying to take care of my mom when she was diagnosed with lung cancer (dying a month after diagnosis) and then being tasked with taking care of an aging father with dementia.  I use the word “tasked” because it was a tremendous undertaking and one that almost broke me.  I have never felt more lost or hopeless in my life.  I didn’t know what my dad didn’t like peas, how to coerce him into showering as he sank further into dementia, or why he felt the need to hide his food in the dresser drawers.  I just knew there was no choice and the tasks had to get done.  I was the filling in the sandwich that was now my life and the sandwich wasn’t a nice orderly, open-faced delight.  My sandwich was a tightly pressed panini that was leaking out the edges – it was messy, it was chewy, bits of it were stuck in my teeth, it was impossible to swallow, and it gave me indigestion.   On my mom’s last trip to chemo, she looked at me and said “What do you do if you don’t have kids to help you?  Your dad and I thought we would just die in our sleep, and it isn’t turning out that way.”  Ignorance is sometimes an easier pill to swallow than reality and when my mom said that, thank God I couldn’t see into the future, nor yet understand just how bad things were going to become. Time has turned my time being a member of the sandwich generation into a not so distant memory (5 years) that doesn’t hurt as much and one that I can look back upon with gratitude for being able to support my parents. Now, I am watching my peers and my husband become part of the sandwich generation and my heart aches.  I will willingly serve as a crust or napkin for the sandwich generation members I love, but I am glad I am no longer a part of that club.