Sandwiched and grateful

Two conversations with two elderlies helped me appreciate and redefine a role I consider both challenging and rewarding.

Like the X, Y or Z generation, the sandwich generation (SG) is a cohort of adults like me who assume the dual responsibility of overseeing the needs of aging parents while ensuring that the necessities of our own family are attended to. 

One of these dialogues happened at the airport, as multi-sized and multi-colored pieces of luggage went around the carousel area. The other took place at St. Patrick’s Cathedral days after the unveiling of the peculiarly titled mural, “What’s so Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding.”

A towering Caucasian gentleman, who I reckon was in his 70’s, asked how long we have been waiting for our luggage. Isn’t it good to be home, he asked. I replied with a smile not wanting to explain that New York is a temporary home, while the Philippines is and will always be my home. It was a long and tiring flight, he said, but as a veteran he always enjoys going home to the Philippines where his wife comes from.  They visit his wife’s aging mother and family regularly.

We are a small family of four, he added, but when it’s time to dine out, everyone in my wife’s family comes along. It’s usually three to four cars, he laughed, and traffic is always bad, he complained.

Back there, he continued, everyone is caring, everyone is willing to help and everyone in my wife’s family picks us up from the airport (a convoy, I imagined). In that sense, I miss the Philippines, he said, sounding appreciative. You see I have another son and I asked him to pick us up tonight but he said he can’t, he’s busy. On a Sunday night when he’s not working? So now I must pay $250 for a car pick up. With my wife’s family, there is always someone to look after the needs of older people, he lamented.

Our talk ended when his younger looking wife and son, lugging their suitcases, approached him. We said hi, had a chit chat then said our goodbyes. I thought of how they must have savored their time back home and how they were pampered and taken care of. The thought of the son who didn’t bother to pick them up irked me.

It was a different story with Pamela; the elderly lady I spent a little time talking with at St. Patrick’s. We exchanged opinions while reading the narrative about the sprawling artwork commissioned by His Eminence Timothy Cardinal Dolan. Painted in oil on canvas by self-taught American artist Adam Cvijanovic, the immersive oeuvre is described as both “a tribute to the Catholic tradition and a meditation on American pluralism.” 

She asked what brought me to New York, so I shared some tidbits of our life. I asked if she’s a native New Yorker. She is but no longer. Pamela thinks the city is now too busy for retirees like her and her husband. They moved to a new state to be near their daughter and her family. It’s a convenient set up and works both ways. Her daughter and husband get to check on them as often and they get to spend time with their grandchildren. She went on to regale me with their life in the suburb then gave me a list of theaters where I could watch off Broadway shows to support promising talents.

I wished it could be that easy for my parents. Or for my siblings and I to uproot our families to be with our parents. But we’re nomads and my parents are no longer as agile as they were a few years back. These days they prefer the comforts of home and the company of good old friends (literally!).

Once termed as the “peculiar position” by American social work scholar Dorothy A. Miller, the sandwich generation, while more prevalent in societies like America where costs of caregiving and day care can be prohibitive especially for average or single income families, is also a growing cohort in countries like ours. A Pew Research Center study reveals that as life expectancy improves, “being in the sandwich generation can be a difficult predicament.” The study added that the type of help needed by aging parents vary widely – from mundane home tasks to financial assistance. When matched with the needs of a growing family, plus the demands of one’s career, assuming this dual role can result in fatigue from trying to fulfill various responsibilities.

I know of friends – immigrants and overseas workers – whose annual vacations revolve around the medical checkups of their elderly parents. Or siblings who take turns to take care or visit elderly family members, albeit briefly. And I admire someone who gave up a promising career to be with a sickly and aging mother. No compromises.

So that’s how it feels to be sandwiched, to be in the middle: palaman as we call that filling, we slather in between a piece of hot pandesal or the slice of greasy ham or the thin wedge of cheese we insert in between two faces of tasty bread. Metaphorically, to be a palaman is also a feeling that could be disconcerting if we dwell on what we can’t do.  On the flipside it could be very gratifying when we devise ways on how to take time off and spend precious moments with elderly loved ones. 

The delight comes in relishing the reversal of roles, in pondering on those years when our parents took care of us, raised us, brought us to the doctor or scolded us (now I sometimes scold them out of concern, which I often regret). The gratification also comes from simply listening to their stories of yesteryears (I journaled most of my conversations with them) because God forbid, someday, memory might just leave them.