My life and your life... interconnected not co-mingled

I went to visit a parishoner yesterday in the hospital.  She has alzheimer's and her husband recently died.  His memorial service is tomorrow and she won't be able to attend.  As you can imagine that decision was difficult for her family to make.  Their mother had fallen and was in pain.  Certainly they didn't want to prolong her pain.  They questioned whether or not she really understands that her husband has died.  We all wonder how she would be with so many family and friends visiting and talking to her.  Maybe the memorial service would be too much in the first place.  I feel for their family.  Illness is confusing.  It brings up more questions than answers.

Although their situation is different, he modeled a kind of love that I want in my life.  When his wife first became ill, he tried so hard to care for her in their home (they live in a retired community that has step down units if needed.)  He dealt with so many little losses along the way.  A loss of communication, a loss of mobility, a loss of activity, a loss of time, a loss of conversation, a loss of shared life...

He came to understand that if she slept in the nursing facility, she would be safe and he would get a good night's sleep.  But each morning, he would go to the nursing facility, pick her up, take her to exercise, then to lunch and then back to the apartment for the afternoon.  In the evening, he brought her back to the nursing facility and started all over again.

I remember when he first approached one of our deacons to ask her opinion about taking a day off from caring for her.  He was so ashamed at even the thought of it.  He felt like a failure... how could he not have enough energy to take care of his best friend and life partner?

I bet he remembered the lunches that she packed for him when he commuted to the city or how she worked full time and raised their children.  I wonder if he cataloged the special dinners she prepared or the way she made their life so beautiful.

We encouraged him to take time off.  We encouraged him to be human.  We even told him that his wife would want that for him.  It still took awhile for him to adjust his expectation of himself to the reality of the world building up around him.

But one day off turned to two and sometime three.  He hurt his back from time to time lifting her.  He caught a cold.  And then he died.  We didn't see it coming.  And our community of faith was quickly faced with two issues:  grief for this lovely man who taught us how to love and the troubling question about who will care for his wife now that he is gone? 

There are dozens of stories like this (the specifics are different) where my own issues of loss and caregiving easily mingle with those of others around me.  In my role as pastor, this has been a growing edge for me.  When I leave from visiting someone who is ill, I often find myself paused before I turn the key.  I'll say something like, "This isn't happening to you."  It's not that I don't want to feel for someone, it's that I want to feel their stuff as their stuff.  And I want to keep mine separate.  Our lives are interconnected and sometimes things that happen to others make it seem intermingled.

I'm deeply grateful for this man's example of loving his spouse.  I'm grateful for the chance to journey with someone who has experienced little losses.  He showed me that adjusting life is not letting go of life.  My actual life, when accompanied by Pete is the life I wanted.  And today my life is filled filled with a yummy smelling frittata that Pete is making even now as I type.  It has spinach in it... gotta go.