Prima Verba – Part 7

Death is a hard thing.

Yes, I realize I’ve said that already. It’s how I started Part 6. It’s how I need to begin here, too.

So, yeah…

Death is a hard thing.

I wrote previously about the sixteen-month period in which 13 church members died. Near the end of those sixteen months, we faced another very difficult death—not within our church, but within our family. Rather unexpectedly, Cami’s dad passed away. His death marked the beginning of the third wave of my burnout.

Cami’s parents were both in their 80s at the time, and each of them had been dealing with various health struggles. None of these health issues were immediately life-threatening, but neither were they limited to the natural decline that goes with old age. Still, they were able to live in an apartment together in a retirement community, and Cami’s dad was able to care for her mom, whose health was worse than his.

But in October of 2021, her dad fell and broke two ribs. This caused some damage to one of his lungs, resulting in pneumonia—first in one lung, and then in the other. Antibiotics proved to be no match for it. Near the end of the month, he was moved back to the retirement community so he could be with his wife of 59 years. He passed away peacefully that same evening.

And our world changed overnight.

Cami’s mother could not live on her own. So, she was moved into her retirement community’s skilled care unit. But it wasn’t long before she was moved into the nursing home, in the early stages of dementia.

Her move into skilled care meant that the apartment had to be vacated by the end of the year. So, during the holiday season, the family met there as often as we could, in order to remove their belongings and clean the apartment. Cami spent hours upon hours there every week. It was a hard couple of months.

But the most significant change in our lives concerned Cami’s sister. She is eleven years older than Cami and has a mental disability. This does not mean she’s non-functional. She is highly verbal and is in relatively good physical health. She was even able to live alone for many years in an apartment building for disabled people. But she needs daily oversight and supervision, as well as transportation to all appointments and activities. When Cami’s dad died and her mom moved into skilled care, Cami became her older sister’s legal guardian.

Now, we knew this would eventually happen. Some day. Down the road. But her dad’s fall and unexpected death set all this in motion before we were ready. There hadn’t been an actual passing of the baton, where the ins and outs of guardianship were explained to us. We didn’t know how or when to do the required reporting. We didn’t know what the state and federal regulations were. And we didn’t know where to find the information we needed in order to understand all these things.

We spent nearly a year scrambling to gain access to various accounts so we could document and prove what we reported. And this was done under the threat of her sister’s Medicaid being revoked, because we hadn’t provided the required information—information we couldn’t even legally access at the time. I was constantly on the phone with lawyers, financial institutions, and advisors of various kinds.

We were well into 2023 before we felt like we were on solid ground with respect to Cami’s guardianship of her sister. Meanwhile, her mother had begun a slow but steady decline in the nursing home. Eventually, she was placed in hospice care, but it was many months before she transitioned to end-of-life care. Cami’s mother passed away peacefully near the end of June in 2024.

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So, this third wave lasted a little more than two and a half years. It was bookended by the deaths of Cami’s dad and mom, and it peaked with the guardianship of her sister. That said, many other challenges occurred along the way.

For example, at one point, Cami’s sister fell and broke her left elbow and her right wrist. She underwent surgery and spent her recovery in a nursing home. When she was released, it was clear that she could no longer live in her apartment. So, the family cleaned and emptied her apartment and moved her into a group home.

In the time between her parents’ deaths, Cami began to experience a decline of her own. Part of the reason for this is that her responsibilities to her sister prevented her from grieving the loss of her parents the way she needed to. She was having to carry a greater burden than she was emotionally able to bear.

At this point, as I saw how much she was struggling, there’s a sense in which she became my only parishioner. As far as pastoral care goes, anyway. The truth is, we were both emotionally spent. We were both running on empty. But whatever fumes I had left in my tank, I wanted to burn them by taking care of her.

As I reflect on these first three waves, I can only conclude that this one took the most out of me. I’m sure that’s partly due to the toll that Covid and the deaths in the church had already taken on me. But somewhere in all this—somewhere in 2024, before the death of Cami’s mom—it became obvious to me that I needed to resign. It was no longer a fleece or a question I was asking God. As far as I was concerned, I had received my answer. To me, it was crystal clear.

But it was not yet clear to Cami.

*******

Well, three waves down, one to go. This one brought back a lot of memories. Surprisingly, not all of them are bad. I’ve realized that I need to write about the good that happened through all this. I’ll do that after I tell the story of the fourth wave.

Speaking of which, it was only recently that I realized the fourth wave was a wave at all. Hindsight tends toward 20/20, I guess. Anyway, we’ll be going back in time a little for wave four, since it took place in the middle of wave three.

As always, thanks to all of you for your ongoing interest and support. And if anyone ever wonders, Cami reads and approves every single one of these before I publish it. After all, this is as personal for her as it is for me. Especially this one.

May the Lord bless and keep you all.

Gloria in excelsis Deo

Aaron

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