Tom Coughlin and Caregiving: A Message for Us All
Caregiving
In a recent op-ed in the New York Times, former Giants football coach Tom Coughlin penned a piece describing his biggest challenge to date: caregiving for his wife who is suffering from a progressive debilitating disease. It is one of those diseases where the trajectory goes in only one direction: down. I know about those types of diseases; my husband of 39 years died a year ago from Alzheimer’s Disease (although, unlike Coughlin’s situation, my spouse’s behavior made my presence dangerous and an impossibility).
Coughlin speaks about the challenges of caregiving, of being at home all (almost all of?) the time, of how one cannot be prepared for the slow demise of a spouse and of how he has been less than even tempered with his children (and their spouses). He admits to anger and frustration. His advice: caregivers both need a break and they need to go easier on themselves.
Four Thoughts
This op-ed generated a host of thoughts for me. Here are four and I am sure readers have others.
First, it seems remarkable that a tough minded coach felt comfortable writing in a leading newspaper not only about his wife’s illness but about the difficulties he is encountering in caregiving. A rare kind of concession by a man known for being (and self-describing) as a disciplinarian and accountability champion; sports figures aren’t known for sharing weaknesses in themselves.
I wondered, as I read the piece, whether the Pandemic and the new attention to the mental well-being of athletes opened a door for more candor generally about difficult issues among us all. Might we be finding an odd silver lining to Simone Biles “twisties” and the deaths and dangers so many are confronting now? Perhaps what drove Coughlin to write this op-ed was that it seemed that going public had few downsides and many upsides.
Second, as I reflected on the care Coughlin’s wife is receiving from her husband and family and round-the-clock paid caregivers, I kept thinking about the many people who struggle with end of life issues without such support. Not everyone has loving family or money to pay for caregivers. Not everyone has a spouse or children who can hold their hand as the end approaches.
This point is brought home with the Pandemic and the number of individuals dying without their family present. Maybe they see their family on FaceTime but Covid has keep families from gathering as their loved one dies. Instead, our healthcare providers are the individuals who lead many into their final sleep.
And, these caregivers are struggling with the weight of the burden of saying goodbye as a surrogate. With the new Delta variant and the prospect of rising Covid patients, these healthcare workers are struggling to get exactly what the Coach is suggesting: a break and time to recover. And, they are, I suspect, hard on themselves as they fail to save all the lives they so want to save.
Third, I am worried about our educators who will be caregivers in a sense for the many students who return to school having experienced one trauma or another over the past 18 months. Teachers, many of whom are not trauma-trained, will be dealing with students who are struggling to re-integrate into school. And, the data show that the mental wellness of students and teachers is not high; many are struggling in different ways that manifest differently.
Who will help the teachers so they can help the students? Who will recognize that the role of educator is changing as students return to school amidst the Pandemic wearing or not wearing masks. How many teachers are worried about their own health and the health of their families? If we don’t pay attention to our educators’ wellness, they will struggle helping our students.
Fourth, for me, the most poignant line in this piece is this: we don’t get to choose our sunset. That’s a notion that captures the reality of death: we can’t choose for the most part when and where we will die and how. We could be struck by a truck or we could be captured in a foreign nation or detained and unable to escape a takeover by a terrorist organization or we could get a disease that lingers or we could simply die in our sleep. We don’t control the end.
But, there is a deeper point here. There is lots that we do not control in our lives. We create an illusion of control but in truth, much of what happens to us is outside of our control. And, the lack of control makes us uneasy and uncomfortable. Indeed, just as we thought we were gaining control of the Pandemic, that control erodes and we are left with uncertainty yet again. And it feels terrible when we can’t control our destiny (or even the next day).
Some folks look to religion for some sense of certainty. Others look to cultural norms. Some meditate. Some believe in luck and lucky charms and astrological signs. Some go into denial. We all have our own ways of coping with the inevitable uncertainty of life and the inevitable certainty of death.
Sadly, the Pandemic has put a spotlight on some of the issues that are hardest for humans: illness, death, change, transitions and uncertainty. It is no wonder we are struggling.
Theory vs Practice
Coach Coughlin’s advice is right in theory: all of us caregivers need to take a break and be less hard on ourselves. Vastly easier said than done. Some of us respond to the challenges before us by doing the opposite of taking a break: we do more, we work harder, we take on new challenges, we assume responsibility for people and we don’t take care of ourselves. It isn’t in our nature to exercise self care even as we recognize that self-care is NOT selfish.
As to being less hard on ourselves, that isn’t so easy either. For those who strive for perfection (on and off an athletic field), acknowledging imperfection in others and ourselves isn’t easy. This suggestion reminds me of folks who say at difficult times, “Oh just relax.” And the uttering of those very words produces the opposite result. Asking for relaxation (like asking to go easy on oneself) produces a counter response.
So, here’s my own mantra since taking a break and going easy seem not to be in my DNA or at least have not risen to the top of my capacities as of yet. (And for the record, I get the theory and the benefits of both taking a break and going easy on oneself and others).
Share
Pause, reflect, ponder, breathe. Rinse and repeat. Pause, reflect, ponder, breathe. And, here’s my key: share with others. It is the latter idea that the Coach has done (although the latter point gets lost in the shuffle). If we can share with others, if we have people with whom we can confide, if we have outlets where we can vent and share without judgment, that is powerful.
Medical professionals need that. So do educators. So do psychologists and social workers. All caregivers need a way to express what they are feeling, even if those feelings are not always positive or comfortable to share.
Coughlin wrote an op-ed. That is one way he “took a break and took care of himself.” Writing may work for some. But, sharing in any number of ways works for many — whether in a newspaper or on the phone or in person. Even social media works for others. Consider how individuals chronicle the illness and death of a loved one online or in a blog or a book. Some write eulogies.
And we trust that whatever the form of sharing we deploy, what we disclose will be treated with care and thoughtfulness and even tenderness.
Bottom line: when one is struggling and lacking certainty, connect with others and share. For me, that is doable and important. And, I consider myself fortunate to have folks with whom I can do that: a partner and close friends.
Try it, especially if taking a break and going easy aren’t optimal choices. Indeed, that is exactly what Coach Coughlin did. He shared with a nation his inner most thoughts. I suspect the very act of sharing has provided him with some comfort. And, when folks respond positively to his outreach, it reinforces the sharing he did.
It takes trust and courage to share hard things. True. But, if one can do it, it helps one navigate. It is a way of realizing one is no longer alone.
