(Saturday, June 24, 2006)
I spent several hours today on what is frankly a death watch for my dear friend J~, so her daughter P~ could get away for a spell.
I first met them both over 20 years ago when P~ was in the U of U hospital with a horrible bed sore. She has been wheelchair bound since her senior year in high school, when a single moment of idiocy on the part of the driver of the car she was in--yes, we should all be MADD--changed her life and that of her family forever. P~ recovered from that and many other bedsores and has actually been in relatively good health, when you consider the average life expectancy for a paraplegic is usually diminished. Her mother, J~ has been caring for her for some 25 years.
Only somewhere along the way the lines became blurred between who was caring for whom.
J~ is such a tiny woman. But it's true what they say about great things coming in small packages. She loves you with her whole heart and I've never heard her say an unkind word about anyone. I don't know much about her life--the details behind the lines on her face seldom explain themselves--except that it hasn't been easy. Yet her smile and the twinkle in her eyes belie whatever might be behind them.
One of my most poignant memories is of when J~'s husband died. We were called right away and arrived before the mortician. I will never, ever forget the look on her face as I watched her watch them carry her husband's body across the threshold of their home for the very last time. Words fail to explain the dawning realization that half of your core has been ripped from you and you don't quite know what to do with the gaping hole that's left.
P~is amazing. Although she has lost the use of her legs and her fingers are curled in on top of each other she taught herself to paint and has created some beautiful works of art. Of course she gives most of it away. She is known well throughout her end of town, as her long blond hair and her beautiful smile announce her presence long before she speeds up to you in her wheelchair. She is a good friend and has a great sense of humor. I will never forget how we both had a good laugh when one day when--after having spent a good part of the day at the mall--I asked her if she wanted to sit down.
Sometimes in my dreams I can see her walk again. (Which is interesting, because I met her after her devastating accident.)
There's nothing quite so humbling as watching someone society has labeled as "disabled" care for her dying mother. The offerings of a caregiver are some of the most dear. Today P~ gave me a hard time as about bossing her into "taking a walk" around the lake and then making sure she got enough water when she got back. I looked at her and replied, "You'd do the same for me." And she would.
Although I've seen a few people near the end of their days, I don't believe I've ever witnessed someone in as much pain. I know angels attend her, but I feel my prayers offered to heaven for J~'s relief must be rather empty as I watch the pain take her breath away. She cries out in agony and I can't keep the tears from streaming down my face. "I'm sorry," she says--still worried about everyone else. I keep telling her how brave she is. She doesn't think so.
Even through her pain she reaches out to me. "You're the best thing that ever happened to that Shane," she says. "I sure love you," she repeats over and over again. As if there just isn't enough time to tell everyone how she really feels about them.
She confides that she just can't do this anymore, but she neither can she leave P~.
I try to reassure her that everything will be OK, but again anything I say seems so shallow, so irrelevant when juxtaposed with the significance of her suffering. I feel so immaterial.
Prayer gets more complicated when you search for the exact words to bless the both the dying and the living who will be left behind. I guess I should just make it simple and ask that God's will be done. Tonight I was touched as I heard my 11-year-old struggle over the right words, what to ask on their behalves.
I don't think I'll be able to bear the look on P~'s face when they carry away her mother's body...
For some reason I keep thinking of Ruth and Naomi.
