Care for the Caregiver

I feel that God gave me a special favor tonight. I saw a glimpse of the man I’ve loved for over 56 years, not the evil imposter who shows up in his body almost every day.

For several weeks I’ve fought the feeling of surrender, wanting to concede the fight and give up the struggle to believe that my husband’s slow fade into eternity is purposeful and redemptive and divinely orchestrated to work all things for good and God’s glory. Watching my man who’s had such a caring heart for people morph into an angry, combative, verbally abusive monster feels like I’ve just been weighted down with a lead blanket. What energy I have is suddenly sucked right out. I don’t feel like making conversation and it’s an effort to smile. My demeanor is altered as much as his is, but in a different way.My thoughts take a downward spiral and I panic and wonder what will life feel like if the only person who really put me first and understood me is gone forever.

I don’t know why it’s this hard to stop fretting about my future and wondering what the circumstances will be. God the Father has never failed to care for me, provide for me above and beyond all my deepest yearnings, and yet… I struggle.

It was with this frame of mind that I went to our bedroom where Burt was sequestered on his hospital bed. He appeared to be sleeping so I sat beside the bed in his wheelchair. In a moment his eyes cracked open and he reached for my hand.

“Hey darling,” he says.

We sit contented for several minutes, him taking peeks at me and dozing back to sleep. After a little while I had the urge to crawl into bed beside him. I managed to get comfortable in my five inches of space and nestled into the curve of his arm. Our fingers entwined and I felt myself relaxing against his familiar and comforting 90-year-old body. We stayed there in the cocoon of contentment for a moment in time.

“I miss us,” I said.

“So do I,” he answered.

The caregiver who had arrived for the night turned as she was arranging her belongings. She gave me a knowing smile as she exited our room, allowing us a brief time of closeness.

When he settled in his sleeping position and I returned to my borrowed bedroom later I lay in bed thinking of how our deepest heart needs are often met even when we don’t ask or when we least expect them to be. For instance, a few days ago, as the “day person” was leaving for the night, I saw her through my window coming back to the house.

“What did you forget?” I asked her.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just coming back to check on you. Are you really okay?”

Her simple expression of concern and awareness that I had seemed troubled was a small balm to my heavy spirit. I think we caregivers do what we do and often don’t have the emotional capacity to carry concerns for our own deepest needs because we use all our energy trying to interpret the actions and words of the person we love.

I find I am considerably more vulnerable and sensitive than I used to be. I think more about the people who don’t reach out, the places others can go, the trips people take, the socializing I don’t get to enjoy, and all the things I’d do if I could.

That’s why the brief time I had tonight with my beloved, when I felt real connection and words weren’t necessary, was such a special “Godwink.” The memory of that feeling will help carry me through those other times when I’m living with a stranger.