Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: HEALTH (10/13/16)
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TITLE: Maybe I Live in Mayberry | Previous Challenge Entry
By LINDA GERMAIN
10/19/16 -
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ADD TO MY FAVORITES
Dear Lord, I can’t do this without you. Give me strength. Adjust my attitude. Keep me going.
I open her door, ever so gently. The room is dark except for a little sunlight trying to seep around the blinds. She’s so still I’m not sure if she has slipped the bonds of earth and quietly stepped through that eternal veil to a restored mind and body.
Every day is like the one before.
“Here’s a nice warm washcloth for your face.”
We begin the daily reality orientation.
“Do you know where we are?”
Although we live in a state in the south, she pivots back to her childhood in New England.
“I think it’s Massachusetts.”
Yesterday, it was Rhode Island. Sometimes it’s Virginia. None of those are correct.
I sing part of a song about Davy Crockett. She picks up the clue and gives the right answer.
I ask her who I am.
So far, in all this crumbling physical and mental mess, she still knows that. She can recall marrying my father but thinks he passed away last August (it’s been twenty years). She doesn’t remember that she and I were nurses.
With her dry diaper and clean gown in place, I’m able to stand her up beside the insurance-provided hospital bed and then quickly deposit her in the wheelchair.
After a lick and a promise to her Einstein-looking hair-do, off we go to the sanctuary of the living room, ready for our daytime routine.
My back hurts something awful, Lord. Please help me get her into that recliner.
Tears sting my eyes when she shifts all her weight to helpless mode. I raise my voice to get her attention.
“Stand up! Stand up!”
She simply cannot follow instructions.
If she slides to the floor, the rescue squad will have to come again. I hate to waste their valuable time and resources.
By some miracle, she plops down correctly and declares she’s cold. It’s eighty degrees in here. I cover her with her favorite small blanket and a heating pad that stays on low.
She waits patiently for me to click on the TV and serve coffee and juice on a little table in front of her. There are favorite ministries to watch. Mostly, she’s interested in the non-stop adventures of Andy, Barney, Aunt Bea, Gomer, and Opie.
Their innocent doings are always new to her. I can repeat most of the etched-in-my-brain dialogue from the kitchen as I scramble eggs and make biscuits on which to spread her favorite blueberry jelly. I make sure she is well-fed and takes vitamins.
Dear Lord, Why, why, why?
I get sick and tired of hearing myself, but still, I whine on and on to my understanding heavenly Father.
We aren’t even blood-related. I’m exhausted. She’s ninety-two. My foot hurts. I think I pulled a muscle when she decided to sit down in mid air.
Her lab work is amazingly normal, and yet, mental health and physical strength have forsaken her in a cruel way.
Her sister, three years younger but still sharp, calls every week from near Boston. She says how sorry she is that I am the one who does it all. I tell her not to worry--it’s what I was trained to do. Perhaps that provides a little solace for her concerned heart. It’s also a good reminder for my own ears.
I am a caregiver. Period.
There are millions of us who often feel trapped (or blessed) as we cycle from mess to mess, cleaning and getting ready for the next round.
We smile when we need to cry. We yearn for a tiny break. How lovely a walk on the beach sounds to my fading energy.
We pray.
On a particularly stressful day, I sob with abandon.
I just can’t do it another minute. I’m so tired. PLEASE tell me what to do. PLEASE!
The phone rings.
Our neighbor, a widow about my age, says she felt led to offer any assistance she could.
Oh, precious Lord! Wow! You heard me! Thank you!
She’s a strong, no-nonsense woman who is perfectly at ease to show up every evening after work to perform the necessary bedtime tasks. Saturdays, it takes both of us to orchestrate a shower and shampoo.
In reality, I could leave. Why do I keep on?
For one thing, compassion and obedience will not let me go.
For another, I’m pretty sure staying is what Aunt Bea would do.
_____
*True
Psalm 27:14 (NKJV)
Wait on the LORD; Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the LORD!
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One thing I think would make the piece stronger, is the growth of the narrator. She seemed at the end, the same as she was at the beginning; resigned to circumstance.
Well done:)
A meaningful story--well-written.
I understand the monotony, patience, and physical stamina it takes to be a caregiver. Thank you for the willingness to take on such a role.
We are all 'trapped and blessed' in some form or another dear heart. Yours is a special kind of trapping only meant for the true and strong at heart.
I pray blessings of extra assurance and gentle nudging of His loving - "Well done good and faithful servant!"