The Circle of Life

I have been blessed to have conversations with people I've either never known, or have not seen in ages, since I started writing this blog, and people have become aware of both parents' illnesses.

Cristin Betzen, one of my dad's former players at Randall High School, is one of those people. With her permission, I have shared something she said to me in a Facebook message not long ago.  Her dad died 12 years ago of cancer, so she has been filled with compassion for what Kim and I are experiencing.

"It is. It's awful. The hardest thing I've ever done. Yet I had the distinct honor and privilege, that so many are denied, to give back to my parents a very small piece of all they had given to me in my life. So often he said, I'm sorry you have to do this, and I said, I'm not. I'm so lucky to have cared for him just a small fraction of what he did for me. Out of terrible things, come beautiful, perfect things that you will cherish forever." -- Cristin Betzen

I appreciate Cristin's words so much more than she could have known when she wrote them. She expressed a feeling and words I had never imagined before all this began. I suppose one could say I suffered from teenage invincibility: "It won't happen to me."

But it did happen to me. And when it did, it slammed me into a brick wall, where I came face to face with an ugly, hateful reality of life.  The aging population gets shoved aside while the rest of us move forward at breakneck speed. It's true. Our society worships youth and material possessions, not wisdom, spiritual growth and healthy relationships. (But that is a blog post for another day.)

When my mom moved into skilled nursing and I had hopes that she would work her way back up, not down, I became aware of too many elderly folks living in a sad, lonely state.

I looked around at the folks in long-term care and ached at their plights. Many of them rarely, if ever, had visitors. One man in particular, had no family at all. The facility was his home, and the staff was his family.

Now, my mom is in long-term care. The majority of the residents where she stays use wheelchairs to get around. Some have hopes of walking again; many don't. Many residents have Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia. Others just have needs too great for families to handle in other settings.

I get all that. However, I have difficulty seeing the sad, depressed faces. One woman sobs in her wheelchair, which breaks my heart. I hate witnessing the loneliness of this woman and others. The blank faces devastate my sense of all that should be right with the world.

While I can't aim my arrows of blame in any one particular direction, the reality still is just wrong. No one wants to live like that, any more than the majority of us want to be homeless, or mentally ill, or dirt poor or paralyzed or whatever other horrible circumstance you can imagine.

While I understand that every family-of-origin dynamic is different, and in some families, forgiveness for past insults and hurts is not going to happen, that is NOT the case in my family.  So, please know I am not here to judge you, your family or anything else with which I am not familiar.

This simply is my experience: My parents loved my sister and me dearly. They did everything to provide for us and give us opportunities they believed we needed and wanted. They sacrificed time and money they didn't freely have. They worked hard. They were good disciplinarians, too. They taught us so much about life and living. Of course nothing was perfect. Not even close. We had more than our share of difficulties and embarrassments. But as a family, we not only survived, we have thrived into deeper levels of love and understanding.

This current experience is just one more emotional curveball we aim to hit out of the park.  As Cristin said, "Out of terrible things, come beautiful, perfect things that you will cherish forever."

So here we are:  My mother is now unable to do for herself the things she once could, much like when I was just a child.  She is no longer able to understand things the way she once could, like when I was a child. She loved me when I was not lovable. She did for me what I could not do for myself. She kept me safe when I had no concept of safety. She delighted in seeing me smile. She suffered when I suffered. She tried everything to make life more pleasant and livable. Life could and would be as pleasant and humane as possible for her kids. And that was that.

Now it is my turn. I am simply and gladly returning the favor. It is not only my responsibility, but my pleasure. Yes, I am tired, but so was she. Sure, I get frustrated, but so did she. The fact is, I am most likely experiencing every emotion that she, as a parent, experienced with me.

It's the circle of life.

So why, why would I even think of allowing her to be sad, lonely or afraid when I can ease that? I can't prevent all the negative emotions and experiences, just as she couldn't as a parent, but I can do everything within my power to make life more pleasant and humane for her. It's what's right.

I can be selfish with my time later.  In fact, I already have been plenty selfish. More than. Embarrassingly so. (Let's not go there today.)

I don't know whether the way I feel is right or wrong, but I do feel this way: Just as the needs of a helpless child once came first for my mother, so the needs of a helpless mother now come first for me.