Witnessing

Dear Michael,

It’s about time I tell you what I think of you. I’ve been talking about you with others, and it’s past time to say it to your face.

This is not about your sense of humor, your collections, or your creativity. It’s about your brave conduct as your partner of 35 years declined, from your soul mate to a manageable concern to a 24-hour caretaking job. This is about how your expectation of retirement companionship deteriorated to silent meals and bathroom supervision.

What I want to speak of is your unwavering love and devotion. Your resilience. Your composure, most of the time. Your acceptance, without hope. Your management of your own frustration and disappointment.

When Gregory became confused about dressing, you labeled, and later, laid out his clothes. When he couldn’t figure out how to plug in his shaver, you put arrows on the cord and the outlet. You engaged all your intelligence and creativity to help him. In private, you mourned each lost ability, a raw comparison to parents celebrating a child’s milestones.

When those accommodations failed one-by-one, (or sometimes faster,) you supervised. When supervision didn’t work, you did it. You demonstrated tremendous resilience as you devised ways to preserve whatever dignity and independence Gregory still had. You were, and are, his touchstone. You are the one he looks to for comfort, stability, and anchor.

You’ve always been open about your feelings, and never critical of my questions. Once I asked you, how long could you do this? Your response struck me and stuck with me. You said, I have the time. I don’t need to go anywhere and I can take Gregory with me if I need to run an errand. You were saying, why not care for Gregory at home indefinitely; I have the capability. I don’t think I could ever be that generous.

But one day, that wasn’t enough. One day, Gregory was not calm and compliant anymore, but agitated, unspeakably sad, and lashing out. Thanks to your preparedness, you did not panic. You found him a place to be where he is comfortable. He is calm and happy again. Nothing about you changed. Gregory changed.

         Through all of this, you also cared for your extended family and friends, by keeping us apprised, at least in broad strokes, of what to expect. You communicated your strong sense of what you need—support, acknowledgement, privacy, no need for suggestions. You never acted the martyr; just laid out the facts. You cried in your pillow at night.

I am honored that you include me in your circle, and I don’t know what I do to deserve it. I do know I need to reflect on how I can be more like you.  

I’ve told my children, a good friend should be someone who makes you want to be a better person. You are a good friend!

I can only aspire to be in a relationship like the one you had with Gregory all those years. What I can do is to try to be more patient, more thoughtful, more devoted, as you have with Gregory. Because of your example, I am making an effort to make more time, take more time to think about how I can help them. Your influence improves the world.

You may not be a saint—but you may be a minor angel. 

Love Pat