I’ve been chronicling the changes without expecting more of them
I’m still surprised by how change surprises me.
This week I was searching through the drawers in an old dresser for a game a friend wanted to borrow, and I came across almost a dozen jigsaw puzzles we had bought for Evelyn: 300 pieces, 100 pieces, 50 pieces. The puzzles became simpler over the years along with Evelyn’s ability to put them together.
I was almost shocked to see them, because I know today she couldn’t begin to complete even the 24-piece landscape I found in a small, square box at the bottom of the drawer. When were we working together on any of these? Two years ago? Last year?
On my next visit with her, I pulled out a much simpler puzzle a caregiver had bought for her. Each piece is a different letter of her name, fitting into its own space, with a little knob to pull it out and then put it back in place.
“Do you know that this spells?” I asked her.
“Evelyn,” she answered right away.
I removed the letters from their slots and asked her if she’d like to put them back. She said yes. But in the 30 minutes I sat with her, only one or two of the letters found its home.
She picked them up and slid them across the wooden frame. She tried pushing the “E” into the spot for the “V.” She didn’t seem bored or frustrated, but she couldn’t make the letters fit.
Chronicling change
I’ve written before about the impact of change on her life and mine. (A search for “change” at this website yields 20 or more results.) Once again I realize I’ve been chronicling the changes without expecting more of them. Is this foolhardiness, or simply a necessary survival technique?
The first page in a search for "Change" at unchosenjourney.com
The experience leads me to realize I could list changes we may see in another year or two.
Will she become unable to say or recognize her name?
Will she no longer read the headlines or captions in the newspapers and magazines we hand her?
Will she become unable to stand from her wheelchair or take a few steps to the bathroom?
Will she sleep longer and longer each day?
Will she quit speaking or smiling?
I can imagine all these possibilities, but I don’t want to think about them. We’ve coped with the changes so far. We’re resilient. We’re adapting. Let’s give ourselves a ribbon and celebrate the finish line.
Accommodating change
But the journey goes on. Like the rising tide splashing against a sand castle, the diseases continue to erode her capacities. Accommodating change is our weekly challenge. I know this. Why does it still shock me?
I find some perspective in realizing change is the nature of life, because life always leads to death. I wrote a couple of weeks ago about the son of best friends struggling with cancer in intensive care. Sadly, by the time that post went live, he had died.
This week a mutual friend from out of town texted to ask if she and her husband could stay with me to attend his memorial service two weeks from now. She mentioned in passing that they were on their way to attend the funeral of another best friend in another town.
I was struck by the persistent drumbeat of death accompanying all our days. The older one becomes, the louder it sounds.
Seeking what doesn’t change
A phrase from an old hymn came to mind: “Change and decay in all around I see.” It’s a gloomy thought. After a weekend of rain and amid pictures of the devastation throughout the Southeast in the wake of Helene, the truth in the simple phrase could lead to depression.
But, of course, the stanza continues, “O Thou who changest not, abide with me.” And later it expresses the hope that sustains believers, including me:
“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.”
I took time to listen to a beautiful, simple rendition of the hymn. It’s slow and soft and quiet, the perfect setting for meditating on a promised presence that will not leave me if I don’t turn away.
Seeing the big picture
Of course, I have so many reminders of God’s help: Evelyn is receiving consistent, caring attention.
And so am I. This Sunday I was hardly home from morning till night because of how friends and neighbors had reached out to me. The waterproofing in my basement did its job in the face of this weekend’s downpours. I’m meeting with various circles of friends several times this week. The list could go on and on.
I’m not depressed. But I am reflective. All I can do is pray for wisdom and strength to cope with the changes that will continue to come our way.