What We Do For Love (Lynn Kerstan)

Let’s talk about the angels among us.

According to the National Family Caregivers Association, "More than 50 million people provide care for a chronically ill, disabled, or aged family member during any given year." That statistical number is six years old. I’d bet it is higher today, and that it will grow higher with every tomorrow to come. And more than likely, you have been, or are, or will be among those millions.

I’m a "have been," and yes, those years were a struggle. I had to leave the travel career I loved. My sparse savings were quickly eaten up. But my smart, funny mother was a blessing throughout her life, and that didn’t change when the darkness came. Always, she worried more about her children than about herself. And during the years of her illness, on every Friday afternoon, my sister left the high school up north where she teaches and made the seven-hour drive to visit Mom and give me some breathing room. On Sunday afternoon, she drove north again and was back at work the next morning. She was the real hero.

Unfairly, I got the reward. It was during those years, unable to manage a "real job," that I first tried my hand at writing fiction. Mom was so pleased. She didn’t live long enough to see my first book published. But she did read the exceedingly long Book of My Apprenticeship (never published, for good reason). Poor thing. I still remember her attempts to praise me. But mostly I remember the blue eyes turned up to mine and the gentle question: "Does it have a plot?" A former journalist, she clearly saw that I needed to get back to the drawing board.

Sorry for the digression. The reason I’m thinking about caregivers has nothing to do with my own past. Right now, two friends are deep in the lair of the dragon, each wrestling with an awful illness that afflicts the person they most love. Both of them have been faithful, dedicated, uncomplaining heroes for many, many years, and I admire them so much that I’m shaking as I type this.

One is presently in crisis because her beloved husband, a diabetic who has suffered many terrible effects of this pernicious disease, had seemed to be doing better and then, unexpectedly . . . not. As I write this, the family is gathered around them both, helping to make difficult decisions. Julia (not her real name, but part of her pseudonym when she wrote some excellent Regency romances) has been a full-time caregiver since before I met her on-line. On the few occasions we’ve met in person, she is just as sweet, personable, thoughtful, and fun. No surprise that she has lots of friends and supporters.

But in all the years she has been part of our extended community, I have never once heard a complaint. Her life has been hard. We all know it. But she never burdens others with her problems. Instead, she enters discussions on every sort of topic. Offers help and advice when we ask for it. Lets us share her joys, and takes us–through pictures and commentary–to family celebrations.

And always, like the murmur of an underwater river, there sings the love she has for her husband. And back comes the echo of what she does, selflessly, for love.

The stats say that 60% of caregivers are women. That’s probably because we live longer. But another friend, Chet Cunningham, proves that a manly man can be just as devoted to a spouse. Chet is a working writer, the author of more than 300 published books of every sort. I met him a dozen years ago when I joined his critique group. And of course, his wife Rosie was there in her wheelchair, a victim of MS, not much able to speak but very much a part of things.

And so she still is. As she declines, ever so slowly, he does all that he can to help her enjoy life. Not long ago, much weaker than when we first met, she came to our Christmas party and played our gift/steal game. Chet isn’t a young fella. He can no longer lift her or manage the ordeal of getting his bride in and out of the chair, let alone the van that takes her from place to place. He’s had to hire a live-in aide, and it’s clear that devotion to Rosie is a job requirement. Like Julia, he never complains or draws attention to how difficult his life has been for so many, many years. Like Julia, he does what he does for love.

I have many other caretaker friends, and some of them are dealing with troublesome relations. Parents who were lousy and neglectful to their kids. Bitter, nasty people who whine and complain to those who are trying to help them. But the caregivers soldier on, without love or gratitude in return, because of who they are.

I don’t know if it’s harder to care for someone you love, with all the suffering you witness and feel like a knife in your own heart, or to care for someone not very loveable because there is no one else to do so. But for sure, caregiving is a test of character. And I have lots of friends who have earned an A+, including several of my fellow StoryBroads. Including as well many of those who read our blog.

You are the true heroes. You are the angels among us.