Sue Shellenbarger writes the Work & Family articles for the Wall Street Journal.  I like Sue, not only because she writes on issues that are important to me personally, but more importantly, ’cause she once used my name and research in an article she wrote.

My parents were both very proud, and my brother was really really mad.  Truly a “home run” for yours truly.

In the Personal Journal section of the September 10 issue of the WSJ,  Sue writes an informative article titled “Parental Pull: How to Prepare for an Elder-Care Emergency.  The article is excellent, and offers tips and techniques that are useful for the more than 30 million folks currently struggling in the sandwich generation (like me).

Sue and the experts she cites instruct you on making sure that work is up to date so co-workers can pick up your responsibilities at a moments notice, making sure you know how flexible and robust your company’s time-off policy is, and having your parents medical information/medical history at your disposal.  I’ll be the first to admit that the second and third things are easier, all they take is a little preparation and forethought.  Making sure work is up to date is a little trickier, and honestly is great advice for any worker in any situation.

It’s two ideas that are written about, that at least for me, continue to be my own personal demon:  “If you’re a perfectionist, this is a good time to get over it”, and “Make peace with your limits”.  I’ve been trying to get a handle on those two for the last two-and-half years.  And although I would love to lie, I don’t think I am better at it today than I was when my dad called me in Las Vegas on Superbowl Sunday in 2006 to tell me that he had awoken to find my mom in a coma.

That is when part of my life came to a screeching halt, and another part started just as quickly.

I’ve spoken about this topic a lot in my blog, sometimes as a way of getting things off my chest.  Other times in an effort to save others from a little of the daily pain I feel about the loss of my mom and the deteriorating situation with my dad.  But my work in employee recruitment tells me that some things in my psyche are hard wired, and no matter how much I try to change them, those damned demons are lurking in the shadows ready to jump out and take another little piece of me.

I know in my head and my heart that I have done as much as I can do for my dad.  Power-of-Attorney is a blessing and a curse.  It allowed me to take care of some things while mom was in hospice, and has given me the authority I need to continue to make decisions for my dad as his health continues to deteriorate.  I’ve often written that this “job” I have is one that I would give up in a minute, the same for my brother who lives close to dad and often handles emergency situations while I am two hours away by car.

But what options do we have when caring for a parent?  For those of us who are the “jelly in the sandwich generation”, we don’t take from our children or our parents, we take from ourselves.  Some of us are fortunate enough to have caring spouses, like me and my brother do.  Some can afford special medical care for our mom or dad, others of us do what we can with what we have.  And that is where the “make peace with your limits” hits me smack in the face… where the reality of what I can do and can’t do hurts me so deeply.

Five years before her death in 2006, my mom and I started to make plans for my dad’s eventual death.  I told one of my colleagues the other day that I am an architect, not a builder.  I plan.  I prepare.  And mom and I did just that.  My dad had his first heart attack which progressed into a four-way bypass.  We almost lost him there, but like the stubborn man he is still today, he pulled through… joking to his friends that he would never die before my mom, he wouldn’t want her to be that happy.

So I prepared some more, living wills were created, personal wills were updated to include not only me and my brother, but our wives and children.  Safety deposit boxes were rented with all the pertinent information inside.  Lawyers and accountants were consulted, insurance decisions were made, and hard choices were hashed over, and ultimately decided.

But in that instant, at 6.34 a.m. Las Vegas time, my world changed.  I got the news I knew would someday come,  that I had actually expected for five years.  But it wasn’t my mom calling, it was my dad.

And here I sit in Indianapolis, getting ready to drive to see my dad in Cincinnati before I take a trip out west for a series of speeches I am delivering in Monterey, Salt Lake City, and Grand Junction, Colorado.  Dad was in the hospital for five days. He was incoherent, was having some trouble breathing, and had pneumonia.   My brother was there every day, I couldn’t get there due to work responsibilities, all the while I tried to “make peace with my limits”.

Now my dad has been instructed to wear a “cpap” machine, a breathing machine that fits onto his face like a “damned octopus” (his words).  Twice in the hospital he refused to wear it.  The nursing home has orders for him to use it at least two hours a day.  He refuses to wear it when he sleeps, the time it could do the most good.  But when it comes to arguing  with my dad, it’s harder than arguing with my dog Rosie.   If my dad uses it, he will live longer.  If he refuses, he will die sooner.  It’s his choice, and my tears and my pleading won’t make him do anything he ultimately doesn’t want to do.

I’m not sure if I will ever truly come to peace with my limits.  Most days I do pretty well, happy that his biggest worry is the lousy food he is forced to eat, or the bad haircut he got at the “beauty shop”, or the fact that today, his battery died on his wheelchair and needed to be fixed.

Perhaps after my dad dies I will look back and recognize what a wonderful job I did (and my brother too).  But today, just like in the world, peace is at best… elusive.