My most important coping skill: embracing the beauty of both
The night before my grandson’s birthday, his parents learned his preschool was closed the next day because of Covid. Birthdays at this school are always happily noted, including a paper crown worn all day by the celebrated child and a book donated to the school’s library and read to the class by the child’s parent.
But all of this would be postponed for my grandson.
The next morning, the new 5-year-old was awakened by his mom with the news.
“Are you sad to miss school on your birthday?” she asked him. “Or are you happy to be at home with me?”
He looked up at her through strawberry-blonde eyelashes, and asked, “Can I feel both things?”
Important skill
Without realizing it, even before entering first grade, this boy had stumbled upon a life skill that will serve him well for years to come. So many struggle through adulthood unable to grasp or acknowledge or cope with “both things.” And yet all of life challenges us to relish good amid the bad, or at least to be at peace when forced to choose a second-best option.
All of life challenges us to relish good amid the bad.
Every wonderful vacation comes to an end, returning the worker to the slogging routine of the job. But the job gives him income for another, future getaway.
Retirement for many brings relaxation, release from the daily grind, and time to pursue hobbies and friendships—and the inevitable body breakdowns that come with old age.
At work, many find fulfillment—and unreasonable bosses and irritating colleagues.
At church, many relish their preacher’s sermons, but not his idiosyncracies or failure to do well some other task.
You may love your house—until a new neighbor’s dog barks outside your window every night—or your car, even though it doesn’t have that moon roof you’ve always wanted.
Pressing issue
Nowhere is this issue of good amid the bad more pressing than for caregivers.
A few weeks into meeting with my online support group, I said, “I can’t decide whether I’m a caregiver or a companion.”
“Why choose?” responded our wise and wonderful group facilitator. “Why can’t you be both?” Since then I’ve accepted that idea. I can be caregiver and companion, if not always in the same moment, certainly at some moment most days.
Happy interaction
I do more with Evelyn than manage her medicine and take her to doctor’s appointments. We eat together every dinner and most lunches, and sometimes I let Evelyn choose which meal I’ll prepare. Sometimes she helps me fix it. I help her wash the dishes, or she helps me. Same with folding the laundry.
We watch TV together every evening, usually taking a break about 9:00 for bowls of ice cream. We take walks together. We have dinner with friends—in their homes or ours or at a restaurant, and no get-together passes without Evelyn contributing a comment or a wry remark. Evelyn is still willing to crawl out of bed early Sunday mornings to go to church, where she exchanges smiles and warm greetings with some we’ve known there for decades.
All of these experiences mean more because we share them together.
I suppose I should add this qualification: “companion” doesn’t equal “partner.” I make all the decisions in our life. Our conversations are about the weather, or the billboard we’re passing, or an interesting news bit she’s found on her phone. For talk about ideas, for advice about decisions, for reflection or insight I must look elsewhere. We’re companions much like a child is a companion to a parent who is her caregiver. But the companionship is good. I’m happy because we’re interacting positively together.
Hope and joy
I have a friend whose wife suffered with Alzheimer’s for 14 or 15 years before her degenerating condition forced him to move her to a care facility. “So were you lonely or relieved after taking that step?” I asked him.
“Both,” he shot back.
There’s hope in that answer, hope that can be a balm for every caregiver. In fact, the beauty of “both” is the only way to cope with any stage of life, starting with the day when time with mom must substitute for a postponed birthday party with schoolmates.
A companion AND a caregiver. It may not always be true for me. But for now I’m learning to relish the joy, the beauty, of both.
Photos by Marc A. Sporys and American Heritage Chocolate on Unsplash