What probably would have been and what possibly could someday be
Sometimes I wonder what I’d be thinking and feeling and doing if our lives hadn’t been invaded by illness.
I can only imagine how we’d be spending our money and our time if we weren’t largely trapped at home by Evelyn’s cognitive impairment and physical failings.
So many places to see!
So many experiences to enjoy!
So many meals to savor!
So many friends to visit!
So many chances to cherish our kids and their families.
Financially stable, happy-go-lucky seniors we’d be—like the ones crowding the rest stops across America every sunny afternoon in autumn.
But more often these days I’ve been imagining something different. I’ve been asking myself, Would I be a better person if Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s hadn’t interrupted my every agenda? Or is it possible I’m becoming more useful to others and more pleasing to God because of these difficult days?
Quiet moments
In quiet moments throughout the last several years, I’ve sometimes repeated a prayer I heard somewhere from someone: “Lord, teach me what you want me to learn from this experience.”
Easter’s in the air! Evelyn’s caregivers love to send me her picture while I’m out of the house (also see below).
I’ve said it, but I’m not sure I’ve meant it. Do I really want to learn how self-sufficient I’ve tried to be, how often I sought control, how quick I’ve been to spend on plans to please myself?
Someday, when this is all over, if I’m still alive, will I be more generous, more patient, less judgmental? Will my attention have shifted from “What can I enjoy next?” to “Where can God use me most?” Will I focus on others more than myself?
Am I willing to welcome my current trials as the means toward making me something more than I’ve been before?
My choice
This much seems sure. I can decide. I can choose to look for what Evelyn’s suffering and my sacrifices are accomplishing in me. An old quote pertains here: “The same sun that melts wax hardens clay.” The difference isn’t in the heat of the day but in the character of the substance.
But the proverb goes only so far. The fact is I can’t make wax or clay by myself, nor can I fashion my character without outside help. I need friends, advisers, doctors. God.
Perhaps my best choice isn’t to try harder but to sit still and ask God to help me. Maybe the biggest thing I can learn from these years is simply to trust him to show me how to live them.
Learning trust
There seems to be no let-up in opportunities to learn trust. Last week, for example, was pleasant enough for Evelyn and me, until it ended badly with another fall for Evelyn. This time her wrist is broken.
We’re meeting this morning with an orthopedic doctor to decide the next step. I fear it will be surgery. Then this afternoon we have our semiannual appointment with Evelyn’s neurologist whom I will pepper with questions about how I can cope with her 100 percent fall risk and need for 24/7, eyes-on supervision.
“You’re no good to Evelyn if you don’t take care of yourself,” everyone tells me. I realize self-care isn’t selfish. And I’m looking, actually longing, for the chance to take the role of a carefree happy senior for at least a brief break.
Maybe it would allow me the chance to clear my head and hear what God wants for me—and from me—next.