FEW, IF ANY, THINGS MAKE ME HAPPIER than a successful memoir written by someone I like and admire. Perhaps the only thing that comes to mind is if the book is gorgeous, as well. That being the conditions for my happiness, I can only say that I am currently ecstatic to introduce to you The Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Caregiving: A Practical Memoir by Judith Henry. Oh yeah, and it’s funny as hell. Really. Funny. About caregiving. So I asked Judith to write a piece about finding the funny in memoir. Read on. I think you’ll be glad you did.
A Serious Look at Humor Writing
by Judith Henry
Over the course of developing my manuscript, The Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Caregiving, I consulted with a very wise woman who happened to be both an editor and teacher of memoir. We would periodically review the chapters that required more work; which ones sounded just right; and what excellent progress was being made. Despite being highly suspicious of praise, I needed the affirmation as much as the critique and she was good at delivering both in a straight-forward manner that resonated with me from the very beginning. During one call, I mentioned another author’s book and narrative style, which was lush and elegant with an impeccable rhythm.
“I’ll never be able to write that way,” I complained. “It’s like I’m drawing stick figures, and she’s painting a Renoir.”
This gifted instructor had probably heard it all before from her students, and I expect, other private clients, as well. She didn’t coo over me as if I were three years old with my first crayon drawing. Instead, her response was, “It’s true her voice is different from yours, but I wonder if she’s able to make people laugh?”
A few weeks after that conversation, at the end of a meeting with my writer’s group for caregivers, I handed out the following month’s prompt and read it aloud to ensure there were no questions. Everyone was asked to think about the ways in which a certain person, place or thing had supported them during difficult times. While the participants all left deep in thought as they tossed the question around in their minds, I remembered the earlier conversation with my writing coach, started connecting the dots, and finally began to take a serious look at the role that humor has played in my life and my writing, especially during the six-year roller coaster ride of caring for aging parents and the twenty-four months that followed their passing, as I captured the experience on paper.
Of course, there were dear friends who lent a willing ear during that time, and they continue to have my love and gratitude, but this kind of assistance was different. My sense of humor became the loyal companion I could always count on. There was never a bad time to hook up. My legs didn’t need to be shaved. No one’s feelings were hurt when my manner was brusque from exhaustion, and I never worried about getting ditched for someone younger, slimmer or more attentive. It was also a given that pink unicorns or rainbows needn’t wait in the wings, since packaging life’s darker moments in candy coating has never been my MO.
When first deciding to share the story of all I’d learned while helping to care for a mother with breast cancer and a father with dementia, there were only two things I knew for sure. One, the book had to be small and light enough to carry and read just about anywhere, including an airport, on a coffee break at the office, or at 2 AM in an ER waiting room. The second was having readers feel like they were getting together with a good, albeit mouthy friend who wouldn’t judge, who understood what they were going through, and who wasn’t afraid to laugh at the sheer absurdities this world delivers when we least expect it.
As a pragmatist and someone who values other people’s time, my book also needed to serve a purpose. So, there were plenty of tips on handling family upheaval, talking to doctors or dealing with grief and loss, but also a liberal dose of humor, which had clearly saved me at times, when nothing else could.
There was the miserable rain-soaked day when I delivered my mother’s last will and testament to the courthouse, while trying not to say one more time, “My mom has died.” Stopped and searched by a security guard, who proudly confiscated a tweezers from my purse, I laughed in his face, and said, “Good job. What a relief to know the chin hairs of Orange County are safe for another day.”
Even my book’s name came out of an anxiety-soaked visit to Orlando one weekend to check on each of my parents. Driving with my head out the car window like a dog on a road trip, I had to find some way to calm down. A stop for coffee helped a little and got me to my dad’s house fifteen minutes later than my, always punctual, 9 AM. Sitting at the kitchen table in an old flannel robe, and checking his watch, he tisked, “Well, well, the dutiful daughter is finally here.” At that point I had three choices. The first was to start crying; the second was to get angry; and the third was to smile, kiss the top of his head and say “Thanks, Daddeo, you’ve given me the perfect title for my book.” I chose option number three.
While some may believe that humor has no place in life and death situations, I respectfully disagree. To me, it can be an act of courage in the face of great turmoil; a way to step back and regain perspective during moments of anger or stress; and sometimes it’s simply another way to mourn.
I’ve finally come to accept that my work may never be considered masterpiece material, and that’s okay. The ability to tell a story or offer advice in a way that makes someone grin or laugh out loud – that’s going to keep me writing until it’s time to type THE END.
The Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Caregiving: A Practical Memoir, an excerpt
The Caregiver’s Toolbox
Otherwise Known as Your Purse
As you’re quickly discovering, becoming a caregiver gives new meaning to the words “be prepared.” Why this isn’t the Girl Scout motto, instead of the Boy Scouts, I’ll never know. After all, the female of our species is expected to anticipate every situation. Look at our handbags. They’re like leather life-support systems. On an ordinary day, they not only contain keys, a wallet, and a makeup pouch, but also protein bars, bottled water, a cell phone, a damp washcloth in a plastic bag (no wait, that was my mother), and a mini-pharmacy.
And when life changes dramatically, the contents of our purses do the same. So it was for me when, in 2007, my elderly father slipped and hurt his back, and my mother, at 85, was diagnosed with breast cancer.
On any given day, I carried these items and more:
- A mezuzah case without a prayer. The irony was not lost on me.
- A few chips of low-dose Xanax. They eased the anxiety that kept me up most nights, but I could awaken quickly for those 2 a.m. emergency calls from my parents or their caregivers.
- Hastily jotted sticky notes, which sometimes tagged along on the back of my pants as I ran errands. Amazing that no one ever bothered to tell me.
- A tube of Burt’s Bees colored lip-gloss. It gave my tired face a bit of garish color when I needed it.
- Twenty to-do lists. Some were written in my father’s methodical handwriting, but most contained my own illegible scrawl.
- A pound of change for the parking meter at my mother’s rehab center. Twenty minutes for a quarter. About what my time was worth.
- A key ring to make a janitor swoon. It held twelve keys, including those to my office, house, and car; my parents’ houses and their safe deposit box; along with an assortment of scan thingies from Stein Mart and TJ Maxx for retail therapy.
- My cell phone. Instead of salivating like Pavlov’s dogs every time it rang, my body’s response was a surge of adrenaline that left me exhausted. To keep sane, I finally bought a different phone with a whole new selection of ring tones.
- Tweezers, for pulling stray chin hairs that appeared out of nowhere, and always caught the light as I gazed into my visor mirror while sitting in traffic. Who can pluck when everyone’s watching?
- A pocket calendar with laughably small squares. Imagine real life fitting into a one-inch box.
- A brochure for an assisted living facility my mother couldn’t bear to think she might need. I thought of applying, myself.
- A relaxation CD my dear friend Anne sent me. Great stuff, if I only had time to listen.
Author’s Bio
Judith’s first book, The Dutiful Daughter’s Guide to Caregiving: A Practical Memoir is a salty sweet memoir and how-to about caring for elderly parents. In addition to working on her second book and writing for online publications, she leads a well-loved writer’s group for caregivers, and does presentations on the benefits of expressive writing, how to create a legacy letter for family and friends, and having the last word by writing your own obituary.
She lives in Florida with her cat, Addie Jacob, who says she has a promising career in cat toy design if this writing gig doesn’t work out.
For more information about Judith and her book, go to http://www.judithdhenry.com.
HOW TO WIN A COPY OF THE BOOK
I hope you enjoy Writing Lessons. Featuring well-published writers of our favorite genre, each weekly installment takes on one short topic addressing how to write memoir.
It’s my way of saying thanks for coming by.
Love the author featured above? Did you learn something in the how-to? Then you’ve got to read the book. And you can. I am giving away one copy, and all you have to do to win is leave a comment below about something you learned from the writing lesson or the excerpt. I’ll draw winners at random (using the tool at random dot org) after entries close at midnight Monday, July 27, 2015. Unfortunately, only readers within the US domestic postal service can receive books.
Good luck!
Donna Engborg says
I am at the age to be thinking really hard about the parental units and the inlaw units. If I’m getting older, they sure are too although I still feel like that little girl when visiting with them. Humor is the best medicine. Humor will get us through everything. My sons speech teacher told us to use humor, get him to laugh at himself it will help. It’s been our motto ever since. If I don’t win, I have marked this book as a must read and will purchase is on July 27th! LOL! Great advice and great writing.
Judith Henry says
Donna,
Thanks so much for your kind words. Sounds like life has taught you one of its secrets – a good time to laugh is any time you can. I just checked out your sight. I’m envious of your crocheting skills! I’m an abysmal failure at it, and knitting, as well. All the best – Judith
Grace Maselli says
About the anticipation of my own mother’s inevitable ill health: I’ve so far been a devoted student of the Bury Your Head in the Sand School of Caretaking from Afar. The humor and courage Judith brings to the subject of parenting parents, and life-changing loss, allows me to lift my noggin from the dirt and glance more fearlessly at the truth. She and Addie Jacob are ferociously funny, soulful gals.
Judith Henry says
Oh, Grace, you are a wordsmith and a dear friend. Thanks so much for your kind words. I’ll let Addie J know, too.
diane Cameron says
Oh I am so happy to read today’s lesson and this excerpt. Ordering the book NOW! I write about cancer and couples and caregiving and Yes to humor, Yes to making yourself–and sometimes others laugh.
Bravo!
Judith Henry says
Diane, so happy the post resonated with you, and thanks so much for the sale. That will keep Addie Jacob in kibble for a bit longer. I am a fan of your wonderful blog, by the way.
Janet Charles says
Isn’t it amazing how humor helps us cope! I can only hope to see my crises with the same laughter that brings out your “Survival Silliness”,,
Judith Henry says
Janet, thanks so much for stopping by and leaving a comment. You’re so right. Humor is one of the greatest survival tools ever!
Pamela Hodges says
Oh Judith, I am so sorry your parents died. Thank you for sharing them in your book.
I would love to read your book. I will wait dutifully until the 27th to see if I won it in a random drawing. If I am not a random winner I promise to buy your book.
My memoir has taken on a “Woe is me feeling,” Inserting humor would be so refreshing. And boiling animal skulls in my mother’s soup pots could be a funny story.
My father is dead and my mother only has one breast. I live two thousand miles away from her. I wish I lived closer.
I wish you all my best in your writing.
xo
Pamela
Judith Henry says
Hi, Pamela. So kind of you to leave a comment. It seems an inevitable part of adulthood to lose one’s parents. Very tough, but also some amazing gifts and lessons to be found in the experience. Your memoir sounds like an amazing story. Keep writing, and keep laughing. It’s one of our greatest survival tools. Wishing you the very best. – Judith
Tracey Krulcik says
Judith,
The title drew me in, but the humor and the damn chin hairs were the clinchers. I need two of these books pronto, one for myself and a dear friend. I immediately thought I will have to hide it, so my mother doesn’t see it. Thank you so much for writing it. A little bit of humor has such healing power.
All the best,
Tracey
Judith Henry says
Tracey -Those chin hairs have to be good for something, yes? You are absolutely right. Humor can get us through some very tough stuff. Hope you and your friend enjoy the books. Thanks so much the purchase! Sending you courage, comfort and good cheer. – Judith
Donna Highfill says
I love your approach – because humor is how we handle the tough stuff. It’s how we find joy amidst pain. It’s the sun breaking through the clouds. And, as Lucille Ball said, “I’m not funny. I’m brave.” Here’s to courage.
Judith Henry says
Donna, you’re a woman after my own heart. Thanks so much for taking time to leave a comment. Love the Lucille Ball quote. Yes, here’s to courage in all its forms! All best, Judith
Lila says
Judith…thank you for your sense of humor on a topic that can be quite un-funny at times. My mother is taking care of her mother and it’s very challenging not only due to the myriad of health issues my grandmother has, but their relationship has never been a close one. I do my best to keep my mom laughing by reminding her that whatever or however it is she is “dealing” with her mom right now, may very well be how I “deal” with her when and if I’ll be in charge of her care-taking later in life. It gives her pause and it usually makes her laugh. I also appreciated what your editor told you, “It’s true her voice is different from yours, but I wonder if she’s able to make people laugh?” Every writer has their own voice and style of writing and it’s good to be reminded of what we’re exceptionally good at. I look forward to reading your book whether I’m the lucky winner of the drawing or I’m the next person in line who has your book in their hand. :-)
Judith Henry says
Lila, what a lovely response to this piece. I so appreciate what you’re going through and am laughing over the comments to your mom. How wonderful that she appreciates the humor (and reality) of what you’re saying. As you mention, it is important to remember the things we have a talent for. To each her own gifts, yes? Hope you enjoy the book! Wishing you well, Judith.
Emily Grosvenor says
For me, funny and sad is always better than anything else. I have three new memoirs I like best and wrote this up about the process of writing it slant, but it could just as well be titled funny/sad memoirs for a funny/sad day. Thanks for the post, Marion!
http://pioneerperfume.com/2015/07/07/write-it-slant-3-must-read-womens-memoirs/
Judith Henry says
Emily, thanks so much for stopping by and leaving a comment. i enjoyed reading your piece! All best, Judith
Kay D says
I look forward to reading your memoir. When my sister and I were tasked with caring for our mother (eleven years between assisted living and nursing home), it was my younger bratty spoiled sister who always managed to find the humor in the care giving experience while I was the responsible first born who handled the details (working with the medical personnel, the financials, etc.). I have never written about the experience nor do I care to. Instead I have tried to write humorously about experiences with my own children. It is difficult to write “funny.” I admire your courage.
Cindy G says
Don’t know what I enjoyed more – reading your excerpt or getting a much-needed kick-in-the-pants reminder that I am not alone in this very challenging part of life. And frankly, my fall-back mode of righteous anger toward the assisted living facility, long term care insurance folks, and myself for not doing more… well, it all gets a tad exhausting. Toss in the strange looks for the too familiar salesman at the wine store and you suspect that trouble is afoot.
Please keep writing!
Judith Henry says
Hi, Cindy. Thanks for stopping by and so glad you enjoyed the piece. I can empathize with the anger and the exhaustion and the wondering if we’re doing enough. Remember to be kind to yourself. You are dealing with tremendous challenges. And for what it’s worth, when I was going through this, the sales people in Total Wine started greeting me with, “Hi, Judith, good to see you again!” whenever I walked in the store. Uh Oh is right. :)
P.S. I will definitely keep writing.
Judith Henry says
I can totally relate to your comment about being the responsible first-born who takes charge and gets things done. We all have our limits where humor is concerned, and it’s a fine thing that you find it in raising your children. To me, that would be a necessity! Thanks for your kind words and hope you enjoy the book if it comes your way. All the best, Judith.
Deb Roussou says
The fork in the road; to find the humor and laugh or dig into the drama and let the resentment follow you around for the day…or two. Thanks for the reminder…for my writing and for a better day lived. Looking forward to reading your book.
Cheers, Deb
Judith Henry says
Deb, thanks so much for your comments. It’s a hard choice sometimes, yes? Yet, it seems that humor can sometimes levitate us above the fray, and make us feel a bit lighter, with more energy for the important things. Hope you enjoy the book! All best, Judith
Mike Welch says
I loved the list of things in your handbag, Judith. Men don’t go sallying forth into life armed with the same list, but we have our totems, our talismans, our lucky charms, rabbit’s feet, and rings of power too. And both sexes sometimes need to arm themselves with at least a couple of jokes to use at the expense of those forces that would otherwise wear us down to nothing. Don’t leave home without them.
Mike
Judith Henry says
Mike, thanks so much for leaving a comment. Love your description of the things men carry – talismans and totems. I have a few of those in my purse, as well. Yes, here’s to whatever helps lighten our load, in all its forms. Take care.
Judith
Debra Moini says
Dear Judith, I love the title of your book. I was that dutiful daughter and daughter in law and only child. I took care of my mother, my father in law, my father and my mother in law mostly because no one else would do it. Without a sense of humor I could have never done what I did. I wish I would have had your book from 1997-2011. I look forward to reading it now. And you’ve inspired me to continue to tell my own bittersweet tale of caring for my parents. Thank you for writing!
Judith Henry says
Debra, I definitely think your book is next! I’m in awe of your ability to serial caregive for so long and you are so right that caregiving is a bittersweet experience. Please keep writing. I’ll let you in on a secret. While I wrote this book to help others in similar circumstances, the real gift was being able to explore the relationship between myself and my parents more deeply, and as a result, coming to terms with some pretty significant issues. Take care.
Judith
Sandy Schuster-Hubbard says
Hi Judith, I’m in awe of people who can keep their funny-bone in tact under duress. At age 74, and no living parents, I need this book for my children. I’ve admonished them for years that they better not dress me funny when I’m really old or I will return to haunt them. Though I’m definitely in the Old Fart stage of life according to society, I believe old is always a decade ahead of what ever age I am currently. Glad you’ve written such a book.
Cheers,
Sandy
Judith Henry says
Sandy,
Sometimes a sense of humor is the only thing left! I’m laughing over the threats to your children. Good for you. I have had several people purchase this book with their adult kids in mind. It certainly couldn’t hurt. Thanks so much for commenting. You sound like my kind of people. All the best,
Judith
Chris McCue says
“They” say humor comes from a dark place. Well, I can’t agree more. Humor not only emanates from a dark place, but also humor allows a person to leave…or ‘come from’…a dark place. Who would ever want to stay in a dark place? Except a bat, or fungus, or me on a bad hair day. Thank you for sharing your excerpt. I use that oh so powerful force of humor to write stand-up about horrible things like child abuse. After the initial horror induced silence there is a palpable release of negative energy in the room when they laugh. Unfortunately, it happens and humor is a useful device that allows people to face realities they most times avoid like the plague.
Judith Henry says
Chris, thanks very much for commenting. You put it so eloquently. It’s very powerful to see someone release of negative energy when they allow the laughter to flow. What an amazing thing that you’re doing.
Judith
Kevinconway says
I am writing a memoir centered around my weird (even for Hollywood) disaster back in the seventies.
If I don’t win I will get a copy for my wife. We just went through that with the last days of my 93 year old father in law. For one month I had to go it alone with him while my wife was away for the birth of our granddaughter.
Sorry to be gross but he had ruined parts of him with a enema habit. When I took him to the hospital for a stay during that month he told the staff they were doing it wrong and that I was the most gentle when giving him the enema and was the only one who did it right..
When my wife returned I called myself the asshole whisperer.
Judith Henry says
Kevin, sounds like you did a great job with a very challenging situation.
I say we grab those compliments whenever we can find them. Thanks so much for stopping by!
All best,
Judith
Denise DiNoto says
I read your list of items in a purse and I think I am woefully uunprepared because all I have is credit cards, business cards, my license and six lipsticks. Then. I remember the time my aging mom and her older sisters all wanted lipstick for a family photo and none of them had any, but I saved the day. Perhaps I’m not as unprepared as I think. Looking forward to reading your book!
Judith Henry says
Denise,
Leather life support systems should always include lipstick. You done good, gal. Thanks so much for leaving a comment!
Judith
Tamara A. Rager says
I’m ordering a copy of your book. If I win the free one I’ll give it to a friend. :)
My mother is 81 and driving me crazy. I’m not the dutiful daughter, in fact our narrative would probably run more along the lines of assisted suicide. And that could go for either of us. HA! HA!
I love the part about the tweezers! Those run-away leg hairs show up in the strangest places!
Thanks for the giggles!
Tamara
Judith Henry says
Tamara, thanks for stopping by and for ordering a copy of the book. Hang on to that sense of humor of yours. Sometimes it can be the one thing that gets you through the tough times. Runaway leg hairs. Never thought of that. Good one!
Be kind to yourself.
Judith
Ruth Crates says
Having been a caretaker for both parents, I can certainly identify with Judith’s stories. I have always used humor to get through tough times, but know how difficult it is to “write” humor.
I also appreciate the validation of using humor in non-humorous situations.
Definitely want to read this book!
Judith Henry says
Ruth, or should I say, “Retired Ruth,” after looking at your blog – you are my kind of people because you understand how humor can sometimes save us when nothing else can. Thanks so much for leaving a comment. Hope you enjoy the book if it heads your way.
Judith
marion says
And the winner of the book giveaway is Pamela Hodges. Yipppeeee for Pamela! Thanks to all for the great comments.