Wear and Tear - 2024 07 29

 

It is hard to explain to those who have not experienced it. It doesn't need to be explained to those who have experienced it.

It is high summer. Those who are unencumbered by caring for someone who cannot fend for themselves are out camping, swimming, surfing, sailing. Enjoying nature, companionship and camaraderie. Experiencing adventures that will form memories that will last a lifetime.

Here we are caring for our frail elder. She is in good spirits, but her body is failing. We have been here before over the years. For every health crisis we have watched and waited, nursed, made phone calls, discussed amongst ourselves what to do. And each time, to date, our frail elder has recovered. Each time, she has recovered enough to keep going. Each time she has regained some strength, some mobility, some degree of freedom from pain. Each time, she has also lost some strength, some mobility, some freedom from pain. Each time, she has lost some capacity and capability to fend for herself. Each time, we have increased our levels of care to meet the need.

At the same time, we have gradually realized that we cannot live in a state of perpetual crisis. That we cannot suspend our day to day life aspirations and interests in perpetuity, in a sense, waiting for the final crisis to end our caring duty. We have learned that we cannot carry out the spirit and quality of caring  when we are in a constant state of deprivation in service of the needs of our frail elder. She doesn't want us to do that. We cannot survive our service commitment in that state.

We are in our third year of providing long term care, sometimes palliative care, for our frail elder. 

The fact is that we will not know if this health crisis is the last or near to the last or somewhere on a timeline toward the last. We know there will be a last health crisis and we won't know that until it is over. We will not know how it will end.

Neither will anyone else. Those who are not here will go camping, fishing, swimming, sailing, skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, etc. The seasons will continue to change. Our caregiving work will also continue to change, increasing in frequency, intensity, and significance. For those who are not here with us, these changes are imperceptible. They will only know after the fact, and cope with their own regret and guilt, as they do now, leaving us here to cope, on our own. 

For those of us who are here, it is unthinkable that we would be anywhere else. We will be here at the end. In a sense, it is this sense of purpose, this value of caring, this commitment to an unknown end, that we recognize in our fellow caregivers. We encounter each other rarely because we carry out our work in solitude with our frail elder. We don't wear any identifying badges or uniforms that make us easy to find. 

What we share in common is this mysterious combination of calm inevitability, graceful dignity, and the wear and tear of caring toward the final days, hours and minutes of the life of a loved one. We share in common the work of making sense of this experience, of carrying out the mundane, repetitions of caring for body functions, body functions that are slowly, inevitably failing, as we contemplate the meaning of life, of work, of play, and of family.

This morning it is raining for the first time in months. The rain barrel gutters hum with water cascading off the roof. It is the end of July and the tomatoes are starting to turn from green to red and yellow. Mom is sipping her tea in bed. She hopes to get dressed today and sit up in the big chair. It all feels quite miraculous. It is hard to explain.

Mom has fallen back to sleep, building up her strength for whatever challenges of the day lay ahead.