Caring and Love: What They Mean in the Last Stages of Life

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Every once-in-a-while you and I experience a word or comment or example from someone that stops us short in our tracks, makes us feel like we are frozen in a glacier of unreality. We cannot move. Or we do not move out of respect for the heaviness of the thought or word we have just encountered. In blissful moments, we are joyful for the experience, in challenging moments, we are left in a cloud of wondering. We sort out the meaning later and sometimes we are grateful that God gave us this moment to tease us into love.

So it was that I experienced such a moment last week as I attended the wake of a relative whose long life of 93 years contributed immeasurable goodness in his vocation as a man of deep faith, a husband, father, grandfather, Navy veteran, scientist for NASA. His wife, a diminutive woman, had cared for the deceased for several years even as he descended into complete bedridden dependence the last two years. Before that, she assisted him to family gatherings always careful to guide him through his failing eyesight so he wouldn’t stumble. Her encouraging words to him were kind and gentle, her demeanor nothing less than generous love. 

Theirs was a second marriage for each. She had taken care of her first husband with equal loving care, and he had stood by his first wife with uncommon devotion. It seems that when they met much later, both were seasoned enough to recognize what real love means and give it another try, come what may. They were blest to have 33 years and a wholesome, blended family.

When I embraced her at the funeral home, I could feel her strength surfacing from something deep and wounded and vulnerable inside. I could feel her grief. When I said I was sorry, she uttered something that made the moment unforgettable, something totally unexpected, something that stopped me in my tracks. “It was my privilege, my privilege to care for him,” she said quietly. She didn’t say, he had suffered too much or that it was difficult at times to feed him, bathe him, or care for other physical needs twenty-four hours a day. No, she simply looked ahead, her eyes serene and she whispered again, “It was my privilege to care for him.” her words spoken as softly as eiderdown falling on fresh snow.

Carol Gilligan, the well-known ethicist, academic writer, and professor at New York University, developed a ground-breaking theory in the ethics of care. She wrote that, “moral action centers on interpersonal relationships and care or benevolence as a virtue.” Resorting to a quick fix in such a situation is not necessarily a good approach. An interpersonal effort between the sick person and the caregiver offers genuine concern and compassion. Gilligan’s theory is formally called, An Ethics of Care and it challenges the more literal foundations of competing psychological approaches to caring for our loved ones or anyone for that matter. I do not want to “get into the weeds” of a philosophical discussion here but Gilligan’s theory was more than exemplified by the care and action of the grieving woman I am talking about in this post. She listened to her husband’s wishes for care; she assessed her ability to do it and they made a decision in the interests of both. There must be a clarity of the love and ability involved between the caregiver and the cared-for; the task at hand cannot be a ‘job’ or even a ‘responsibility.’

Reflection

Many of you, my readers, have cared for someone you love in the last stages of their life. Some of you are doing it now. There is no template for this calling. Gilligan would say it is up to you and the helpless individual through a loving, honest dialogue to determine what can be done and to pray for guidance and support. Some of you cannot relinquish your jobs. Or you might have physical disabilities of your own and cannot do what my friend did for her husband. But all of you can be respectful of the choices to be made. Whatever you do out of selflessness will be your ‘privilege’ and you will not regret it. It might mean that you enact ‘the privilege’ by hiring hospice, or by enlisting a retinue of family available to help. Here is the important point of faith to keep in mind: Be as unselfish as you can be. Place the situation into your own context of faith and do what you painfully know is right to do. Rely deeply on the ethics of care. And you will say in the end, “it was my privilege.”

In his book, The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen, the late Dutch psychologist, and priest, suggests that true caregivers are people who have suffered or are suffering with the one who needs care. They have learned to see the sacredness in the suffering of their loved one and it tears at their own heart with a ferocity that makes them more empathetic, patient, caring.

If you are caring for someone now or may be in the future, ask yourself how you might first discuss their needs and then how much of this you can do for them. If they are unable to discuss, look deeply into your heart and do what you think is right relying on God. This will be difficult, but in the end, you will be able to say, “It was my privilege, it was my privilege to care this way.”  

To all my Anonymous Angels and faithful readers, you are always in my prayers!