woulda shoulda coulda

I’m coming off a very sweet weekend in which Melissa and I marked 29 years of marriage (the large part of it as caregivers) and many kind people graced my retirement from church leadership.

It is one of those forks in the road where I guess I’m supposed to type memoir-like thoughts.  But I’m not.  The fork is not confusing and I don’t need to linger; I know where I’m heading next, at least in the short term.

I’ll be working at a local hospital in a specific kind of work, sterilizing medical implements.  It won’t be the kind of people-work that rides on one’s back all the way home and then sprawls all over one’s family and personal life.

I’m glad for it.  I applied for some other, more lucrative public service positions, but those didn’t come through – and in short hindsight I think that’s a blessing.  I couldn’t have given the emotional quality of work they needed.

The decades of family care giving simultaneous with the emotional demands of church leadership took a toll.  There were various highs and lows, but I’m not going back over them with a lot of “woulda shoulda coulda” self-absorption.  They were what they were.  I lifted a lot of people up and I let a lot of people down.  Such is human life.

20190528_080723Looking at myself honestly in the here and now, I can say that I have a good number of emotional punctures.  Not enough to incapacitate me or require major repair, but enough to know I need to keep things as simple as I can.  I’m like a garden hose with some nicks – sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s not time to throw it away.  It gets most of the water where it needs to flow.  A spot of duct tape and all’s well.

Care giving takes a toll.  I say that without shame.  It’s diminished me in some ways.

And I know it’s improved and enriched me as well.

If you are a caregiver in the trenches, you’re not crazy and, most of all, not a bad person (more than any other ) when you feel your nicks and leaks.   Care giving is costly.  As is anything ultimately worthwhile,

…through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God.  (Acts 14:22)

The weekend’s getting long

Holidays are seldom restful for caregivers.  Supports like schools and community centers are closed, the ones in our care can be upset by disrupted routines, and our instinctive savoring of “time off” crashes into extra hours of greater demand.

The need to pace ourselves and embrace our reality is acute.  Family care giving is not contained between punches of a workplace clock and seldom gives the satisfaction of “done.”

Memorial Day provides a long weekend.

The long Memorial Day weekend honors those who died in combat.  As one hears at funerals, they rest from their labors.

The long weekend indulges the living who have the freedom to travel, party or just be couch potatoes for a bit.

For family caregivers, it’s just long.

If you have a care giving family on your block, they might not be able to come to the park or even the party in the next yard.

But you might knock on the door just the same to drop off a plate of barbecued goodness and with your kindness make the weekend a little less long on their end.

 

“To The Other Mother”

Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord; also his mother, who has been a mother to me as well.  (Romans 16:13)

Joey 21 McNally

Mother’s Day is here  – let’s show some love for all the moms!  I want to honor Melissa, not only for giving birth to our two sons, but for the long term momming that went into raising a son with special needs to adulthood.  (re: the picture – no, he doesn’t drink.  It was just a milestone to celebrate his 21st birthday in a place that required him to reach 21.  Strictly a burger run).

I know from years of church experience that piling on the Mother’s Day sentiment can have unintended consequences.  Women who are not birth moms, or who can’t be, or who lost a child, or who are estranged from their kids might perceive a “second class female” label being slapped on them when church services set aside the Gospel and function more like a Hallmark holiday.

I don’t think that means we should eliminate Mothers Day but we should be aware of its limits.  Giving birth is not the only value to a woman’s existence and, frankly, there’s more to being a mom than giving birth and having a baby shower. We need to watch out for romanticizing and minimizing what should be serious, sacrificial and lifelong effort.  (Motherhood in this fullest sense is quite Christ-like).

The full expression of motherhood involves care giving.  I’ve watched Melissa’s role continually evolve as our boys age.  She’s always their care giver, even as they grow in adult independence.  She continues to be a source of “home” for them, even across distance.

I quoted Saint Paul at the top of these thoughts.  In an easy-to-skip ending to one of his letters, where he’s writing a lot of “Say ‘Hi’ to so-and-so” pleasantries, he mentions a fellow Christian named Rufus and then asks his readers to greet Rufus’ unnamed mother, who, Paul writes, has been a mother to me as well. 

What form this took we don’t know.  We know that Paul’s ministry kept him on the road; perhaps Rufus’ mom gave the Apostle a sense of home base and family when he visited Rome.  Paul mentions ailments in some of his letters; perhaps Rufus’ mom gave him respite and comfort.  And Paul’s life was full of hardships and hostile confrontations; perhaps the mothering he received from this unnamed woman was in simple hospitality, human warmth and affirming words when they crossed paths.  In a world that beat Paul physically and emotionally, this lady’s glad hug and smiling “Welcome back, stranger!” would have been the medicine of motherly love (I remember the days when our kids seemed to get better from bugs by just sitting on Melissa’s lap for a bit.)

In her book Teaching Diamonds in the Tough, Cleo Lampos includes a chapter entitled To The Other Mother.  She lauds those who step in to give care in ways that make them mothers to the world’s needy children of all ages,

DiamondsIn our family, my Aunt Lois served as our unofficial foster care system.  At one time or another, Aunt Lois took care of most of my cousins for varying lengths of time and for differing reasons.  Her frame house in mid-Iowa became a refuge for my sister and me for over a year as my mother battled with an alcoholic husband in another state.  Aunt Lois provided stability and protection at a time when my sister and I displayed emotional signs from abuse.  She infused us with hope because we had lost ours.  Aunt Lois became “our other mother.” 

To women like… Aunt Lois, a lot of adults owe debts of gratitude that can never be paid.  The “other mother” saved our lives.

So I take this Mother’s Day on the calendar to give thanks for all of the mothers on the job out there; those like Melissa who gave birth and continue to nurture those lives decades later,  and to all the “other mothers” who give care and bring forth new life when others have the blues…

 

 

Two deaths, one love

Jean Vanier died on May 7th.  He was a gentle presence who moved people to significant action and life changes.  I was privileged to hear him speak about twenty years ago in Southern California.

Vanier founded L’Arche and Faith and Light,  now more than 1,500 communities in which “people with and without intellectual disabilities” live more as families than as professional caregivers and patients.  As Vanier said of L’Arche,

Genuine healing happens here, not in miraculous cures, but through mutual respect, care, and love. Paradoxically, vulnerability becomes a source of strength and wholeness, a place of reconciliation and communion with others.

He translated family-style care giving into “institutions,”  encouraging vulnerable amateurs to practice companionship and respect rather than technique.  His approach has been replicated in communities around the world, and to needs beyond intellectual disabilities.

Today…

Bill… I went to the conference center at the community agency that is the home for our son with autism.  They were holding a memorial service for Bill, one of the four other men with whom our son shares a group home.  Bill died late last month.

The seats of the ample conference hall were filled.

The current staff and residents, including our son Joey, were all there.

Other employees of the agency were there.

Other recipients of agency services came.

Former employees who knew Bill, including the Pastor who led the service, were there.

When given an opportunity to share memories of Bill, there was no lack of speakers, prepared and impromptu.

A message that echoed through the memories recalled the values that Jean Vanier carried in his work and that many caregivers who’ve never heard of him carry in theirs:

We’re not staff and clients, we are more like family.

There was a slide show of Bill’s life and a display of his favorite things.  The whole event reflected “person centered care,” valuing Bill not only as part of the community, but as an enrichment of it.

Bill’s warmth – manifested notably in a thunderous Hi! and sweeping wave of his hand to group home visitors  – was a gift to our family as we went through the emotional time of transitioning our son into his new house.  We trusted the staff and liked the house’s set up, but to experience immediate warmth like Bill’s was an extra that softened the big change in our family’s life.

Bill’s loved ones donated his belongings to the home to use as needed, and Joey inherited a recliner chair that he’d coveted and attempted more than once to occupy.  We will still think of it as “Bill’s chair.”

Jean Vanier, known around the world, and Bill, loved locally, merge into one.  Both reflect a community of love – relationships entered into vulnerably – as the model for care giving.

I came away from Bill’s service red eyed but uplifted.  The community is diminished, temporarily, yet lives in love.

Whatever their gifts, or their limitations, people are all bound together in a common humanity. Everyone is of unique and sacred value and everyone has the same dignity and the same rights.  (Jean Vanier)

…we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. (Ephesians 4:15-16)

Hi!  (Bill Wilde)