There are certain things in caregiving that can wear you down faster than others. The medication alarm. The phone ringing when you’ve just sat down. Your name being called from another room approximately fourteen seconds after you were just in that room.

And then there is the repeated question. It stands alone, doesn’t it?

Mom asks me something, and I answer. A few minutes later, she asks again, and I answer again. Then she asks again, and I answer again, although perhaps with slightly less “sparkle.” By the fourth or fifth round, I can feel my patience pack a small bag and quietly leave the premises.

It’s a good thing Jesus knows my heart.

I know Mom can’t help repeating herself. I know the answer I gave her five minutes ago may simply be gone. She isn’t trying to irritate me, test my patience or see whether she can make my left eye twitch. I know all of that, and sometimes I still cannot stand to answer the same question one more time.

There. I said it. Maybe somebody needed to hear that today. Was it you?

I think caregivers sometimes believe that once we understand why something is happening, we should somehow become immune to its effects. If we understand dementia, surely we should be able to answer the seventeenth repetition with the same sweetness we managed the first time.

Ummmm, no.

I’d like to meet the person who can do that. Actually, no. I probably wouldn’t like her. By question seventeen, the Mother Teresa patience might be more irritating than the repetition.

Understanding helps. Compassion helps enormously. But compassion does not give us endless capacity. You can understand why someone is doing something and still be worn completely slick by it. That doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving them. Sometimes it just means your compassion is intact and your last nerve is not.

Today, though, I looked at Mom and saw the other side of it. There was sadness in her eyes. She knows her brain doesn’t work the way it used to. She may not remember every conversation or realize how many times she has asked me something, but she knows something is wrong. While I’m over here thinking, Please, Lord, not this question again, she’s living inside a brain she can no longer completely trust.

Well, crap. Nothing ruins a perfectly good bout of irritation like that realization. But that’s caregiving, isn’t it? I can be frustrated by Mom and heartbroken for her at exactly the same time. I can know she can’t help something and still desperately wish she’d stop doing it. I can answer too sharply, regret it and promise myself I’ll do better next time—only to discover that “next time” has arrived four minutes later, which seems a little aggressive if you ask me.

Just yesterday, she asked me at least five times in an hour and a half about a bottle of water for her walker. Today, I specifically brought her a new one, and she didn’t want it. Repetition and hyper-focus is insane-making to the logical brain. To theirs, it is not.

The other truth is that underneath all of it, I love her. Love doesn’t magically make the hard parts easy. Sometimes it simply gives us a reason to keep showing up. And I’ve learned that beating myself up when I don’t handle every moment beautifully doesn’t restore one ounce of capacity. It just adds guilt to an already crowded room. None of us need that!

If I’m too sharp, I can apologize – and I do – a lot! If I need to walk into another room for a minute, I can. Sometimes I can redirect her or find a different way to answer. And sometimes I’m just going to answer the question again.It may be with a sass mouth, but I’ll answer. Rest assured, I’ll answer.

And, then, I’ll show up the next day, and try to do better – because that’s what we caregivers do. Remember, be kind to yourself (and your loved one) even when it’s hard – especially when it’s hard.

Caregiver Hack of the Week: Answer the Worry, Not Just the Question

Sometimes a repeated question may be carrying a worry underneath it. Instead of answering, “What time is my appointment?” for the twelfth time, try, “You don’t need to worry. I know when we need to leave, and I’ll make sure we get there.”

If that doesn’t work, write the answer somewhere they can see it or try redirecting the conversation. There isn’t a magic solution for every repeated question because dementia apparently did not come with an owner’s manual. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s finding something that makes the repetition a little easier on both of you.

And if you find yourself praying for patience, as your friend, I’m telling you – JUST DON’T. Remember Job? Right. Don’t. Do. It.

See you at the next station!