ONE CAREGIVER'S CONFESSION
The Motivation for A Caregiver's Conscience
A CAREGIVER’S CONFESSION…
Just when you’re thinking that you’re all alone and no one understands what you’re going through, you meet someone who lets you know that you’re not alone.
You could seek out such an individual, but when it happens by chance in an unexpected manner and in an unexpected place, it really makes an impact. One day I experienced such a meeting.
It was the day that the groceries were being delivered. When I received the text that the delivery guy had arrived, I went down to the lobby to meet him. He was still unloading the truck when I reached the lobby. When he finished, I smiled and waved to let him know that it was I who was expecting the delivery.
He began talking to me immediately; telling me his name and that he enjoyed making these deliveries. He was talkative and I didn’t mind chatting. As we rode the elevator up to my Mom’s floor, he made a startling confession. And I say “startling” because it was the last thing, I expected him to say.
He explained to me that he too had been taking care of his Mother. He said that he took care of her the last 3 years of her life and that she suffered from Alzheimer’s disease.
“That’s rough,” I said totally feeling his pain.
And although the conversation appeared to be difficult for him, he continued.
“Yes, it was.” He looked me directly in my eyes and said, “You’re doing a good thing for your Mother. I know it’s hard.”
And at that moment, I knew that he truly understood. A lot of people say things like, “You’re doing a good thing. You’re a good daughter and I’m sure your mother appreciates you.” Those words seem hollow coming from people whom you know don’t have a clue what you’re going through but coming from him, I knew they were sincere.
“Thank you. It is hard,” I mumbled, not even sure that he could hear me.
As we walked down the hallway, he suddenly stopped walking and made a statement.
“I used to pray at night that my Mother would ‘go’ in her sleep. I wanted her to die. It was not a good life for her, and it was no life for me.”
I looked into his eyes and didn’t utter one word. The look in my eyes told him that I understood.
He then said, “And I felt guilty every night having those thoughts but…”
His voice trailed off. I had the urge to give him hug but instead I simply said, “Thank You.”
We smiled at each other—a thoughtful, understanding, compassionate, encouraging smile, and began to unload the groceries together.
I got the distinct impression that he had never told that story to anyone else but that it was a story that he desperately needed to tell. He had made a confession—a confession of a Caregiver. And he had made his confession to a complete stranger but to someone whom he knew would understand.
And I did understand. I had never seen this man before. I don’t remember his name and I don’t believe that I will ever see him again. But just as he was leaving, I reached out to give him a hug and I whispered, “You are a good son.”
Tears come to my eyes even now as I think of that encounter. It was an accidental, unexpected meeting. Well, let’s say it was unexpected, but it was not accidental as everything happens for a reason. That moment in time was the exact moment that I was convinced to write “A Caregiver’s Conscience.”
I decided to write because I think it might help to tell the others. Sharing my cares and concerns with other Caregivers may help us all to know that we are not alone. Just as one Caregiver’s confession helped and inspired me.
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This moved me to my core. There is a specific kind of 'knowing' that only exists between those of us who have lived in that hallway.
That man’s confession—the prayer for the end—is the Great Taboo of caregiving, but it’s actually the highest form of mercy and exhaustion.
I’m currently writing my own journey of caregiving ('The Caregivers Nook: Living in The Relentless Tide'), and it’s encounters like yours that remind me why we have to tell these stories. We aren't just 'good daughters' or 'good sons'; we are humans being pushed to the very edge of our souls. Thank you for being a witness to him, and for sharing his confession with us. You are definitely not alone.