We were at my sister's house. All of us around the kitchen island as always, wrapping up a weekend together. Banter and small talk, news on the background, I headed to get one last cup of coffee. Dad, in his customary impatience and desire to get on the road, stopped me in my tracks and chided, “Drink your coffee and stop looking around.” We all had a good laugh, I drank my coffee, we said our goodbyes and headed south to Delaware. Little did we know it would be one of our last trips there or anywhere for that matter.
This is dedicated to my father, on the first anniversary of his passing, who left me with that timely bit of wisdom that I could tuck in my pocket for later. Since then, I've come to cherish it as I've reframed it to have a much deeper message and meaning.
It became a posthumous baton pass, as I stepped into his role of full-time caregiver for my mother, who passed just four months later from a heart attack. We say it was a broken heart, as she was inconsolable after losing him.
The lessons and takeaways have been immeasurable as I think back on what was happening in my life in those weeks and months of caregiving, struggling to let go of life as I knew it. His words helped me to stop looking back over my shoulder to what was and kept me from looking too far ahead to what could be. I had to “drink my coffee” and embrace and accept what was now in my proverbial cup. All my aspirations and intentions were temporarily suspended, and the reminder Dad gave me to stop looking around. It grounded me in the present, so that I could fully engage with the task at hand and the honor of spending those last months with my mom. With no knowledge that it would only be four months, I hunkered down for the long haul as this beautiful lesson descended on my heart. It reminded me of the Hafiz quote,"The place where you are right now, God circled on a map for you.”
Here are the lessons and takeaways from that brief, bittersweet time. Perhaps they will bless and bolster others who are currently walking this road of caregiving or sidelined in any way from where they think life and work should be now.
Tuck into God—The most bedrock lesson cemented to my heart was to draw each day’s grace and strength for that very day. Dementia is a difficult dance and some days, the mother I knew was not the mother I knew. I wonder if she knew that, too. I rose each morning to journal, to scribble my heart’s contents—the joys, struggles and hopes, prayers and ponderings that would hold me through our time together. I felt I’d lost my moorings. Life as I’d known it had radically changed. It was all so sudden; I had packed an overnight bag to head to the hospital with her to see him. And a few days later, life had changed for all of us as he never woke up from brain surgery. Now here I was in his shoes, with hardly time to grieve, as I learned to master her health protocols and look after their finances and home.
Without God holding me up and holding me fast to my newfound post and assignment, I’m not sure how I would have fared. “We have this hope like an anchor,” it says in Hebrews. Tucked into God, I felt anchored in His guidance, peace, strength and purpose to rise to what I was being called to. Finding refuge and shelter in Him helped me to be fully present.
Dad had told me his passwords and logins only the day before, with us intending to see him following his surgery. Only a few days before that, I had learned her new diabetic regime; things that would be essential for what would be required in the weeks ahead. Gratefully, I had learned how to measure time differently in my years living in an Arabic neighborhood in Nazareth, Israel. Those lessons of spending time (Kairos) rather than tracking time (Chronos) allowed me to stay present as Dad’s words echoed often in my heart and mind. "Stop looking around." A clarion message to “just be here” helped me to recenter and recalibrate as God guided me through those initial days of grief and bewilderment. Eventually, Mom and I would find a rhythm and cadence to our new life together, as I learned to practice His presence and sought His guidance, trusting He was working all of it together and that we would be ok.
Ditch FOMO and Comparison: I came to see them for the very thieves they are, robbers of joy, pied pipers trying to lure me away from the present moment for lesser ones of what could be or should be. I rumbled and shadow-boxed with my own emotions. What was I afraid I was missing? In retrospect, I would have missed the months with her, distracting me from my calling and purpose.
I learned to practice gratitude and find ways to lift my mom’s spirits at the loss of my dad, to help her find reasons to live on. I struggled at times with my siblings getting on with their lives and with Mom telling me to just go home, that she didn’t need me. The ugliness of dementia, the roller coaster ride of her brittle diabetes that tanked or spiked in the middle of the night and the disorientation of loss made for long days.
Eventually, I yielded to the journey that was tailormade for me and stopped looking around at anyone and anything else. I found strength and rallied each day, so that I could do what was mine to do, what was my honor to do. I learned, though not easily, that to stay centered and grounded meant to trust that I was exactly where I needed to be.
Stay Fully Present: Keep a light hand on my plans--a phrase I often say. It would be put to the test as opened my hands and let go of what I thought I "should" be doing. The present moment is all we truly have, yet it’s often it's the hardest place to stay.
Life circumstances forced me to focus on the now and with that release, came the ability to step wholeheartedly into my new role. Only in and from the present moment, could I experience the fullness of our time together. Every time I tried to run ahead in my mind or pine for what was, in my life, hers. and theirs together, I forfeited the gift that being present brings.
Living in the now meant releasing my "glory days" of the past and "what-if's" and "what's next" of the future. It beckoned me to embrace the beauty and opportunities of each day. I took baby steps and had to get back up from stumbling around in my new role more times than I care to remember or admit. Yet that was all part of it. These timely life lessons required me to loosen my grip and attachment to places, people and things. I'm lighter and more agile now, as a result, and quickly recognize when I run behind or ahead of myself.
Honor Your Bandwidth: This was my prophetic phrase just a few years prior. Now it became a mantra and constant reminder to value and protect my energy and boundaries, so that I’d be equipped for the task at hand. In my younger days, I pushed myself relentlessly with phrases like, “How hard can it be?” Now in my mid-60’s, my short answer is, “Hard!” Guarding myself from pushing beyond what I had capacity for taught me to be far more gracious with myself.
Understanding not only my personal bandwidth, but my mom’s, was essential to us living and working well together. Making peace with the fact that our energy and capacity aren’t infinite, and honoring that in each of us, kept us from being overly stressed and stretched too thin. It took time to tune into each of our limits, so that I could make decisions that aligned with my well-being…and hers.
Many years ago, I learned a phrase during a counseling session that has served me well. As a first-born, accommodating 'Yes' girl, my therapist's words were a revelation to me. “Just because someone throws a ball at you, you don’t have to catch it." In total amazement, I said, “What should I do.” “Put your hand down,” she said, “and it will sail right past you.” It was the perfect object lesson needed for me to say 'NO' to things. In a word, it was liberating and just the reminder I needed to help keep things at bay that continually tried to creep in and overtake me. I learned to practice the pause and tap the breaks on things and rather than looking around, I looked upward and inward to stay true to those things that most needed my attention.
Eventually, I learned to layer in self-care, so that I could recharge physically, mentally and emotionally. To be my best self for my new role and it’s responsibilities, I slowly learned and relearned to eliminate what pulled me away from the present, and pushed me beyond my capacity-- and eventually found my stride.
Focus on What Matters Most Now and Let Everything Else Go: Saying no, embracing slow and letting go were things I often associated with my business journey. To keep me centered and in my lane, I often told myself to 'go an inch wide and mile deep'--a guardrail and plumbline to stay true to my deepest and most signature work. It all took on new meaning now.
My new inch wide was caring for my mom. It had been a fulltime job for my dad and it became that for me. The coffee is my cup was the thing—it was mine to drink and do. It helped to ‘Marie Kondo’ my days and choices, so that it kept what mattered most as a priority.
Slow is the pace of a woman in her 80’s struggling not just with age, but health issues that took my pint-sized powerhouse, mother of six, juggling all the things, to months away from what would be her last days.
I needed to s-l-o-w things d-o-w-n and with it came greater empathy and compassion. It also brought a deep sense of sorrow. She could remember things from long ago to the tiniest details, but current, more recent history was becoming harder for her to retrieve. We spent time sitting together and looking at family photos, talking about Dad, as I did my best to help her to look forward and not just back. Without being present and focusing on what mattered most, I would have missed it.
Angry outbursts and hard times, needed to get put in perspective. My time with her now (and with Dad too before he passed) helped me to make up fo the years I lived overseas and then Stateside, in another city. Now here I was, under her roof, with her every day and it became a daily challenge (and proud accomplishment) when I chose wisely to temper my responses and keep clear on the priorities that shaped our life together.
As I pressed the pause button on my business, I was grateful for the graciousness of others, who gave me the wide berth I needed to love and serve my mom. Decluttering my life and work of other commitments gave me the courage and permission to say no, stay focused and release the things that no longer worked for me.
Know Your Season: Life unfolds in seasons, each with its own rhythm, challenges, and opportunities, whether we’re ready for them or not. Each season of growth requires a new willingness to go deeper. Aspects of my character were being tested. Each day's choices refecting and revealing the posture of my heart.
Recognizing and embracing the season I was in was crucial to aligning my actions with my expectations. Acceptance and allowing took the place of resistance and reluctance, which helped me navigate with grace and intention.
It took a minute to view caregiving not as a disruption in my life and work plans, but rather a valued chapter in my life and journey with my mom; a much shorter chapter than I could have imagined. It initially came with a mix of emotions, sorrow and grief for the sudden changes that loss incurred and fear of the unknown. Was I up for the task? Could I pick up where my dad left off? Would she receive my help when she really wanted his?
I had to ask myself questions and learn to shift the narrative. What is God teaching me right now? What are my priorities in this season? What do I need to release or embrace? Journaling and praying through the answers helped my find my way forward, so I could be the daily support and encouragement that she needed.
It was not just my season, but hers and in truth, her last. My attitudes and outlook, my reactions and responses set the tempo for each day. It was a transformational time for us both and it was essential to find the joy, listen to 70’s music, (her favorite), watch Hallmark movies (her other favorite) and steep myself in the present, in her presence and the present this would all be to me—a gift I’ve come to cherish, that will keep her even closer to my heart until we’re together again one day.
Circle the Wagons: Caregiving can be a lonely ride. We're not wired to navigate life alone. We need the encouragement, support and shared wisdom of others. I now realize how much that helped my dad when he had that role in her life. How necessary it is to surround ourselves with people who uplift and inspire, cheer us up and cheer us on--even through the darkest of days. It was at the time that I missed the closeness of my sisters especially and was grateful for phone calls to cry, share and vent. Mom needed that too and loved time with each of her kids and grandkids on the phone, Facetime calls and visits. She reached out to friends and family and took calls sometimes—but none could take the place of her beloved RJ. Even her 6 kids and 20 grandkids were not the comfort to her we hoped we would be.
While we had a few visits from friends and my siblings came, close neighbors frequently checking in and sitting for visits and dinner, I don’t know where I would have been without the constancy and support of my best friend, Pat. She spelled me so I could keep my sanity on days that pushed me to the brink. Her friendship and heart of service was not just extended to me, but to my mom as she sat with her for hours, shopped for us, helped organize the house and bring me things from home. Thank you is not enough and I'll be forever grateful for her kindness and generosity to our family. Distinct times stick in my mind as the wagons circled around Mom. Seeing her children and grandchildren around her at my Dad's service, sharing time at her dining room table, lifting her spirits, making her laugh and sometimes cry. Each one doing their best to soldier on in Dad's absence--each having their time with Mom/Grammy. Life is shorter than we want to think or know. It was her last visit to our hometown, my other sisters' homes and finally Dad's grave, where we believe she told him it wouldn't be long till they would be together. It was less than a week later and that's where she went, just like she said she would--"I'm going to go be with Pop and you girls will be crying your eyes out." As always, it's because "Mom said!"
Stay Teachable and Open to the Wisdom and Experience of Others: “In times of change, the learners inherit the earth," said Eric Hoeffer. I needed the collective wisdom of others who had gone before me, knew this journey well and could guide me and encourage me forward.
Friends and family helped me traverse the delicate path caregivers encounter. Being a learner kept me open to their knowledge and insights. It offered me perspectives I may have otherwise missed.
I learned that each person who traveled this road, struggled at some point with their own choices and responses. They shared candidly and openly, which gave me the opportunity and privilege of learning from their experience and their mistakes. They shared what worked for them and what didn’t, how they preserved their sanity and self-care and how they dealt with the loss when it finally came. These became invaluable insights and a window into each one’s world, that I would too soon reflect upon and draw from, as my caregiving journey came to an end.
Embrace Obscurity: Seasons of obscurity can feel challenging, but I have found it's often where the deepest growth happens and caregiving was no exception. Stepping intentionally away from visibility into obscurity, allowed me time to reflect on what was most important in my life. During a morrning quiet time, I searched the internet seeking that phrase--and the book Embracing Obscurity appreared by the author: Anonymous. The focus was on humility, service, sacrifice, and surrender. Like a bootcamp to ascend to the next level in my life, I grew up in those four months and it was exactly what I needed. Every struggle and challenge called me to get my eyes off myself and look upward to God for strength and grace and outward to Mom and her daily needs. It sifted me and my motives and I see my own life and work through a different lens now.
Rather than resisting obscurity and lamenting over my lack of visbility in the marketplace, I came to embrace it as a gift. It was in those moments that seeds were being planted for the next phase of my journey. What I thought would go on indefinetly ended so abruptly with the heart attack took life, as I held her and said my goobyes. My only consolation was in knowing that she was finally at rest, home with Jesus and with Dad. All of it a crash course and turning point in my life, a tranfomative mile-marker, a before and after, leaving an indelible stamp on my heart.
I trust I did you proud, Pop! Thank you so much for your poignant, timely words of wisdom and my last lesson from you that held me fast through those difficult months and guides me now in my life and work. See you again. Love you forever. xo
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