I can’t help but reflect on the life of an older friend and her family as we say goodbye to a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, and friend this week.
I guess I’ve known her and her family for nearly 20 years now. There were times when we’d sit in my friend’s backyard when we had gatherings and dinners, back when she was a little more spry and communicative. I don’t remember many of details of these occasions, just that she had MS, which limited her in some capacities. She wasn’t always in a wheelchair, so I didn’t know what her abilities were, how much she could do. Isn’t that how it is? We try to draw conclusions by what we see overtly, rarely making a correct assessment. I knew one man growing up who was completely engulfed by MS and incapacitated, while my teenaged best friend has lived with it unseemingly for over a decade. I was tentative with Anna (and people I didn’t know well, regardless of their physical abilities) so I tended to shy away from greeting it and her much, uncertain as I was. I was preoccupied with my young family at these gatherings. Or maybe with just myself and my insecurities and inability to know how to be. I’m afraid I retreated and quietly refused to engage as much as I could have.
But my memories of Anna always include Kim. Kim is Anna’s daughter, but has also spent many years as her caregiver. A common phrase was, “I have to take care of my mom” when there was a conflict in schedules or we wanted to get together. It was a regular refrain, just as much a part of Kim as Dr. Pepper and canned frosting. I never thought anything about it really. And how could I? I had no frame of reference, no context for anything like caring for a parent. And, like I said, I was too preoccupied with my own self that it never occurred to me to open my eyes any further.
Over the years, this family became an extension of our family. I didn’t see Carl or Anna very often, but they were there in the background, familiar characters in the story of Kim’s daily life. Somehow, though, her parents seemed to know who we were too and welcomed us into their hearts any time our paths crossed. Their warmth and acceptance were calming and we began to slowly know each other better.
It wasn’t until my kids were quite a bit older that I began to peek up from the mess and chaos I perpetually found myself in that I had the wherewithal to pay attention to others.
And maybe this corresponded with when Kim went back to school. I couldn’t fathom how she managed to care for her own family as well as her mom (and sometimes additional parents) on top of her homework and studying. I just knew she was used to taking care of her mom and that she seemed like Super Woman, able to juggle everything without a blink.
I always admired the respect she had for her mom and the positive light she portrayed her in. Of course we giggled about her affinity for the mall and her buys on QVC; I knew her mom liked to go out to eat and to be with the family. And although I’m sure it was taxing to make time in her schedule for such things, Kim always seemed happy to comply and to spend time with her mom.
I’m sure there was a time of grief—and perhaps it’s been ongoing—for the more traditional experiences they never had as mother and daughter. Those thoughts made me feel a little wistful for Kim and I felt sad for her missed opportunities I felt were necessary.
But over the years I’ve come to realize what had really been going on. I’ve noticed how much time Kim has been able to spend with her mom, probably more than almost anyone else I know. Not the once a year fatastical trips around the world where the focus is outward and extravagant, but in everyday, close-up kinds of ways that most of us will never take advantage of.
I never actually thought about the care Kim’s given her mom until not too long ago. I had no idea what it entailed; and, to be honest, I’m still not sure exactly what all she did. I know she got her ready for bed and tended to her personal needs, but we’ve never really talked much more about it.
Kim’s not only been caregiver to her mom, but she seems to be the one in charge of the family. Not entirely or officially, but the gathering place, the one the others turn to, the one who knows what’s going on and who seems to make arrangements. And that could totally just be from my vantage point as the outside friend. But sometimes the middle child acts as peacemaker and the connector among family; and, in my mind, she starred in that role.
But as I’ve spent more time around aging people, it’s hit me how devoted Kim has been, how much patience it takes to check in regularly, how much energy it takes to sit quietly and to listen and to consider ways to increase comfort or to anticipate needs. She is a marvel, and I’ve commented so many times over the years that maybe she should’ve been a nurse instead of a teacher. And we’ve laughed at times when her home became such a center of convalescing that if she had just one more patient she would have needed a license.
Looking back, maybe as we would all conclude, obviously I should’ve visited more. But that’s a lesson to apply to future friends because regret should do nothing more than propel us to better action ahead. And yet I’m grateful for even the sparse interactions we had. I couldn’t imagine my busy and full and varied life’s activities and wants crammed into a shared room with just a tv for company. Visiting her humbled me immediately and I felt almost ashamed of any complaints I’d voiced recently, kind of like a confessional. I realized how much I had as far as material comforts as well as diversions, and I vowed to appreciate it all more once I left. It was easy to let her talk, to listen to what she had bottled up, to ask questions about all the characters in her life’s story, to notice the family pictures collaged on her wall, to determine what made her proud in life. She never spoke without referring to her family, her kids and grandkids, and of course Carl, the love of her life. She would tell me the story of how they met, how long it’s been that they’ve cared for each other, and how devoted Carl’s been to meet her every day for lunch. The love they share is evident and palpable, something to envy in this day of disposable relationships. Her oral memories became my pep talk, and she was my cheerleader, subtly reminding me to take care of my own people so I too could look back on my life with them with fondness and satisfaction that I’d loved fully.
It’s interesting, at funerals, as we reflect on the people who have come into our lives. Many times I haven’t really known the person and as we spend an hour talking and sharing, I’m always regretful that I didn’t make more of an effort to become better acquainted. And I end up wishing I’d invested a little more, for I realize I missed out, that these are amazing people, that everyone has a story that we assume we already know. But I’ve learned that we can learn from absolutely everyone, that when we learn to invest and come in close, we are taught and inspired and better off for the time we spent together. I’ve also come to believe that we are in one another’s lives on purpose. Maybe we wonder why or we suspect that it’s all just coincidence, or, more likely, we don’t give it a thought. But maybe we should pay attention to the people in our circles, in our lives—even those on the periphery. Because maybe there are others like Anna—and Kim—who are meant to be right where they are, to enhance and enrich and to teach us in specific ways we weren’t aware we needed.
And so I’m grateful for this lovely lady, full of spunk and life and honesty, who opened her frail and failing arms to me, just another friend of her daughter. She made me feel like she wanted me there, that she was glad I’d come, even though our connection was a tiny thread. She taught me to find the good, to open my heart a little more to the potential friends in my path, to honor motherhood and marriage, to prioritize family, to share my faith, and to appreciate the tiniest slivers of joy around us. While I’m sad for this part of Kim’s life to change, I’m so grateful for the example she’s shown of unselfish love, devotion, and long-term care. I’m a more aware person, and I hope to become more thoughtful as a result, because I’ve been a bystander to this most loving of mother-daughter relationships.
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