The Caregiver in Recovery

Some might call it grief; others might call it recovery.  Really, it’s both. 

It’s what the caregiver enters when the aging parent dies, as my mother did on June 7.  Her death was sweet.  My husband and I were with her. The medical staff in the skilled nursing facility where she lived had made her very comfortable, and she slipped away with no struggle and no pain. I had glanced away when suddenly my husband stood up; I looked at my mother and knew she was gone.

She had left her unhappiness behind and entered into the joyous presence of her Savior.  To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). Our hearts immediately were flooded with a mix of emotions: relief at her release from the frailty and sadness that had defined her final years; hopeful joy at the realization of what she now was experiencing; and sadness that the final good-bye had come.

The first thing I did was call my brother. We cried on the phone together, briefly. My husband and I stayed in her room for a while, adjusting to the reality that she was not there.  Once we got home, I called my nephew, my mother’s 100-year-old sister, and her four remaining friends in Texas.  The first response from each of her friends was, “Oh. I’m so sorry. But she was so unhappy, and now her unhappiness is over.”

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was so glad about that.  There was nothing really to be done until the next day. The funeral home in Texas was handling everything related to the memorial service and burial there. So we could just be quiet and let it sink in. And we could follow our regular routine to attend the Sunday evening worship service at church.  What better time to worship than this, when we were overflowing with gratitude for the salvation that is my mother’s in Christ?

The next morning things kicked into high gear.  “Achiever” and “Activator” are number 1 and 3 in my top five “StrengthsFinder 2.0” profile, and when those are in operation it’s amazing what can be accomplished through God’s enabling grace. The first priority was to pack the things in Mother’s room and arrange for the movers.  Yes, they could come and move on Tuesday morning. (Hooray!) Next was planning the graveside and memorial services in Texas; all the contacts were made, everything put in motion for Thursday. Travels plans had to be made, and yes, there were enough seats on timely flights for all of us to get there. Then all the financial institutions and other necessary parties had to be notified. I was glad I had written her obituary before she died, as my brain could not have done it as well afterward.

In two days her room was vacated with everything delivered to our house or Ditto re-sale shop, all the plans for the services verified, and we were packing for Texas. On Wednesday we arrived in Odessa, took care of everything at the funeral home, and had a three-person wake with my brother, telling stories and remembering my mother. On Thursday we attended the graveside and memorial services; after that all I wanted to be was home. One more day to go. On Friday we met with the financial advisor and headed to the airport. Some of our dear friends picked us up in St. Louis and had us over so that we didn’t have to ask ourselves, “What are we doing for dinner?”

The next morning I woke up and realized that, for the first time in five years, I didn’t have to go anywhere. I didn’t have to put on my make-up. (You Texas girls will understand that statement.) There was time to go through all the boxes we had packed when Mother moved from her home in Texas, then from her assisted living apartment and skilled nursing room here in St. Louis.  I could not believe the treasures I found:

Here were all the contents of her recipe drawer from her Texas kitchen including those for her homemade egg noodles, cabbage rolls, and pecan pralines that she recorded by following her mother around the kitchen in the 1940’s. There were clippings from magazines marked “Delicious!” or “Gene (my dad) loves!”

There was the christening gown and cap she had worn as a baby, photos of my young parents with my brother when he was little, Christmas cards they had sent through the years…

And then, this: a scrapbook I did not know existed. Looking back at me from the first page were my parents in a photo from their wedding that I had never seen. On the following pages were more photos of that day in 1943 and of their early marriage. There were the newspaper clippings from when the Phillips 66ers, the industrial league basketball team on which my dad played forward, won the National AAU Championship. There were the papers from his enlistment into the navy. He did his officer training near New York City, and there were programs from Broadway shows and menus from Manhattan restaurants (“Stuffed Flounder….75 cents”).  There were mementos from their time in training in Jacksonville, Florida. 

Then a wedding anniversary card as Daddy was about to sail for the South Pacific: “Darling, Am in my tent at Mira Loma and my heart is breaking over the thought of leaving sweet you. When you find this I will probably be far away—but my heart is always with you. I’m only living until I can hold you once more. Do take good care of yourself and remember that I love you all the worlds full. Gene.” And the long-awaited telegram at the war’s end: “BETTER FILL THE ICE BOX WILL BE IN WEDNESDAY VIA KANSAS CITY DON’T KNOW EXACT TIME LOVE = GENE”

My husband and I wept like children. Here on these pages were the tall, beautiful, smiling, courageous people that we missed, the two that had given us so much, and that we loved so deeply. God had given us the gift of looking back, beyond the years of heart attacks and failing memories and fear, to the years of faith and strength and industry and joy. 

So now we grieve, but it is with hope and with sweet tears. We adjust to the new schedule that does not include a visit to the nursing home every day and all the other things that caregivers must do. We read and re-read the mountain of thoughtful cards and notes that have come. There is an estate to settle, but even in that there is opportunity to appreciate my father’s detailed, loving care for us. Ecclesiastes 3:4 says that there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” What I realize now is that all of these are simultaneous when God relieves the aging parent from her suffering and the caregiver from her post.

What Kind of Listener Are You?

It seemed like a crazy assignment to me.  The professor in the Introduction to Counseling class was having us interview three individuals of our choosing to give us practice in asking questions, directing conversation, and listening.  It was to be an information-seeking interview only, for one hour, with persons of different ages, stages, and gender. Just to listen.  I didn’t see the point, but I had to do it.

So, I interviewed a high school boy whose father had recently died, a single mom with a middle-school daughter, and a newlywed young woman. For each one, I thought beforehand of a question that might lead to meaningful conversation:  “It must be so difficult for you since your dad died. How are you doing?” “You are such a good mother.  What is your greatest challenge in being a single mom?” “Tell me about your first year of marriage.” Even though they knew this was for an assignment, every one of them talked for at least an hour and a half, with tears. All I did was nod and sometimes ask a follow-up question.

When it came time to meet with me, the high school boy had been reluctant, but his mother made him follow through with his commitment. Afterward, however, he did not get to the end of my driveway before he was calling his mom (of one my dear friends) on his cell phone: “Mom! This was the best thing I’ve ever done!  Mrs. McGreevy helped me so much!”  What? But I didn’t do anything… Oh, wait.  Yes, I did.  I listened. I had listened, with no judgment, no evaluation, no agenda, no advice.  I just listened.

It was a powerful lesson to me that everyone I meet is carrying great burdens and is hurting more deeply than I know. People all around me are in need of a sympathetic and listening ear.  To listen is to do something very important for another person, something that encourages and edifies.

Good listeners hear what is being said behind the actual words that are spoken.  Active listening requires concentrated effort that notices body language and tone of voice.  Listening means not thinking through your response while the other person is speaking.  Sensitive listeners respond to comments with “door openers” that convey an interest in hearing more and that transmit two crucial messages:

“I am interested in whatever you have to say” and “I will accept you regardless of what you say.”[1]

Four active listening skills that everyone can develop are:

1.       Reflection: serving as a mirror reflecting back to the one speaking what she is really feeling, doing, and pursuing.  “What I’m hearing you say is_______.  Is that right?”

2.       Clarification: determining whether we have studied the other person’s words from enough angles to arrive at a good picture of what is meant.  It is as simple as asking, “What do you mean?” or “What is the problem, exactly?”

3.       Exploring: pursuing further understanding by asking open-ended questions rather than yes/no questions.  “Tell me how you felt when that happened.” “Why do you think that bothered you so much?” Why questions, in addition to what questions, are important for self-reflection in uncovering hidden problems that hinder spiritual growth.

4.       Acknowledging intimate communication: assuring of confidentiality and continued acceptance after sensitive information has been shared.

You never know when God will give you an opportunity to give someone “a listen,”or when you might need one. After our mentor/pastor/friend/boss in Philadelphia, Dr. James Montgomery Boice, had died, one of my more talkative friends flew there to be with me.  For an entire weekend, all she did was listen to me while I talked and cried.  She was the only one of my friends who came.  We walked all over town, went out to eat, sat in our house...and she listened.  It was so helpful for my own grief process to be able to talk as much as I needed to talk. She gave me the gift of listening with true empathy.

You never know… Early one morning last week, I had just checked my car into the dealer for service, settled into the waiting area with my hot coffee, iPad and book, when another customer began talking to me. We chatted about our cars a bit, and then he hung his jacket on the chair next to mine, sat down, and kept talking. Soon I learned that his wife had suffered a stroke six months ago and was now in a skilled nursing facility. It seemed to me that his “word quotient” had built up over all that time and now the dam had burst.  I put my book down and prayed an arrow prayer: “Okay, God, I get it. This is my assignment this morning. Please let me be of help to him.” Almost three hours later, our cars were ready, and our conversation ended.  The gentleman shook my hand and thanked me profusely.  I did not say, “Oh, it was nothing.”  It was something.  I smiled and said, “You’re so welcome.”  Because I had listened, and it had been a blessing to me to do it.

Ask God to help you hear “beneath words” and to be willing to listen when an opportunity arises.  You will give someone true encouragement, and you will be blessed.

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[1]These statements as well as the following explanation of listening skills are from: Lawrence J. Crabb, Jr., and Dan B. Allender, Encouragement: the Key to Caring (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1984), 122-125.

Real Friends: Rare Gifts

Some people just seem to have a gift for making friends.  And yet, you can’t make a friendship happen.  It just does.  Or it doesn’t. You can set up the opportunity for it to happen: you can go out for coffee, meet for lunch, go to a concert together.  But you can’t make a friendship happen.

When it does, and you realize that you have just clicked with someone, there’s that wonderful feeling of delight and wanting to know more.  So you pursue that, but the friendship has already been given.

Some friends are seasonal.  They are strong for a certain time of your life, and then they are gone. They have been friends, truly, of a sort. But real friends stick. For the long haul.

And yes, I am grateful to say, I have real friends, and to them, I am one. Here’s some of what I’ve learned about real friends:

Real friends know you’re not perfect, and extend grace to you when that becomes all too obvious.  When you fail them, they forgive you.  When you disappoint them and yourself, they stand by you. And you do the same for them.

Real friends never stop believing the best about you.  They always give you the benefit of the doubt. They cheer you on to pursue your goals, and encourage you when you fall short. They will also tell you the painful truth when you need to hear it. They give you advice for your own good, but don’t get mad when you don’t take it.

When life’s storms hit, suddenly they are there by your side.

Real friends are safe. You can be yourself. They really listen, and can keep a confidence.

You may not have seen them for years, but when you get together, it’s like yesterday. The words come easily and fast.  Laughter and tears flow freely.  The hands on the clock fly without notice.

Real friends just enjoy each other. Being in each other’s company is a pleasure, and is nourishing, not depleting.  There is a genuine appreciation, even though there may be differences of opinion and conviction.

But there is usually some deep connection about which you and your real friends agree, a shared interest or sport or vocation or identity.  My closest friends share my faith in Jesus Christ. Despite all our differences, that is at the core of who we are.

Some of my real friends and I have lunch every Monday.  Yes, that’s right—every Monday.  For 15 years, so far, although we’ve been friends longer than that. Among us six women we have seen each other through deaths of a husband, a child, parents, and friends.  We have been there for each other when we or our husbands have lost jobs, gone to graduate school, been through surgery, or retired. We take trips together to the beach where we talk, eat, shop, laugh, eat, walk, play games, laugh, eat, and do our Bible studies. We throw bridal and baby showers for each other’s children and dance at their weddings. We celebrate each other’s achievements, and give hilarious cards at birthday lunches that nearly have us thrown out of restaurants.

We belong to different political parties and Protestant denominations. There is an 18-year age range. Our personalities are vastly different. But we can tell each other anything, and we do. We earnestly pray for each other. There is godly wisdom in the group, crazy humor and straightforward truth (“Mary Beth, don’t EVER wear those jeans again!”).  I just love them.

How would you describe your real friends?