Who Cares More for Mom?

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"Caregivers often send out mixed messages," observes Denise Brown, creator of Caregiving! newsletter and the online support group Caregiving.com "They say, 'I can do it all myself' and 'Why doesn't anyone help me?'"

Those mixed messages often mask a complex stew of emotional issues with long histories. "Acrimonious" is the way one professional woman in her early 60s describes her relationship with her "very successful" older brother, which is why she insists on anonymity and won't name her brother or allow him to be contacted. She lives in a Northeastern city with their 90-year-old mother, who has midstage Alzheimer's; he lives far away. When they were kids, brother and sister fought over control. Now in their 60s, they're struggling over, well, control. "To me, he was always a tyrant," she says, "but my mother couldn't see it. He's still the golden boy, even while I put her before myself."

Her brother, she says, wanted to take control of Mom's money through a power of attorney and then place her in a nursing home. To prevent that, his sister gave up full-time work for part time, closed up her own house and moved in with Mom, for whom she does everything. Her mother arranged for her to receive a stipend for helping--a rarity for family caregivers. The compensation is not much, but she's sure her brother thinks she's sponging off Mom. So she refuses to ask him for help.

Despite the favoritism issues in nearly every family, dissension is not inevitable, no matter which child becomes the caregiver. Good relations do not require equal contributions to caregiving, observes sociologist Matthews, but depend on siblings' doing what is reasonable, given their location and their other responsibilities.

It is even possible for sisters and brothers to overcome ancient grievances as they band together for their parents' sake. As a child, psychologist Bedford, for example, often fought with her twin, Barbara, and her elder sister Margie. In adulthood, the three women harbored grudges and rarely saw one another. But in 1985, after Margie had a serious accident, her siblings teamed up to tend to her through months of rehab. The three of them talked through their childhood conflicts. Margie was their father's favorite, Barbara was their mother's, and Victoria felt like a neglected middle child. The women acknowledged those realities but also showed one another that there was a flip side to being a favorite, including a larger burden of parental expectations to fulfill. Looking back on their childhood, Bedford says, "I realized that there was in some ways enough love to go around."

A few years ago, when their mother entered an assisted-living facility, the geographically scattered sisters made sure that one of them visited her at least once a month. Barbara, who lived farthest, could visit only twice yearly, but the others understood. When their mother died, the three sisters comforted one another--as they still do. "I don't need a support group," Bedford says. "My sisters are 100% there for me in my grief."