Being born smack in the middle of the “Boomer” generation, I am realizing more and more every day that all booms go bust eventually. As with every generation before and after ours, we grew up (or not!) together, graduated together, got married together, had
children together, watched our children marry and have children together, and now we are superintending the death of our parents together. In some popular media outlets, we are called the “Sandwich” generation, squeezed between cleaning up after grandchildren and cleaning up after infirm parents. But I don’t feel like something plump between two tasty pieces of bread. I feel like a sailboat on which the sail has become so threadbare and tattered it won’t catch enough wind to tack any more, and I am headed for the rocky shores of mortality.
The outline of those shores is coming more into focus as I help my mother’s craft navigate toward them, and I realize I am close behind her. I don’t dread those rocky shores because they are the way into a beautiful land. But the approach is uncertain, sometimes veiled in fogs and mists, sometimes treacherous with stormy winds and hidden currents.
Mom has no more power left; she can only be carried along by whatever wind or current takes her.
Here my analogy has to change a little. From her perspective, my role in her life is more like a deck hand polishing the proverbial brass on the sinking ship. And there is a lot of brass to keep up.
I recently read a book on caring for people with dementia. The first part of the book dealt with signs and symptoms, medical aids, advice for care givers, etc. Toward the end of the book, several writers shared their personal stories. Many of them wrote in glowing, sentimental terms. The days, weeks, months, years were “precious,” “sweet,” “healing.”
Mom has been with us for five years now. Her decline was relatively slow at the beginning, faster the last two years, and astonishing in the last two months. And I cannot say the time has been precious, sweet, or healing. It has been tiring, frustrating, and painful, both physically and emotionally. I know it has been that way for her too, as her grip on the earth has been loosed one painful finger hold after another. She is looking forward to the Beautiful Land ahead, but she sometimes loses sight of it, being so close to the rocky shore. The landing there is the last act of faith for a Christian.
Helping her make it is a duty of love– not of sentimental love, not of touchy-feely love, not of emotional love at all. If I let my feelings take control for one minute, I would abandon ship. A swim in the sea is, after all, more refreshing and enjoyable than the futile pursuit of polished brass.
The blessing of this week has come from reflections (maybe they bounced off the polished brass!) on need-love and gift-love, a concept explored in The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis. Humans are entirely “need-love” and God is entirely “gift-love.” How could it be otherwise? We are totally dependent creatures: He is the only all self-sufficient Creator.
In my relationship with my dying mother, she is all need-love and I am all gift-love. The only thing she can do for me is appreciate what I do for her. The only thing we can do for God is express appreciation for what He does for us.
But on a practical level, does Mother demonstrate appreciation? I know she loves me. She sometimes says “thank you.” But usually she is resentful that I clean up her messes in front of her, put pills into her hand to take, give her plates of food to eat that she doesn’t feel like eating. She cries because she is so weak and accuses me of not giving her any meat for a whole week. She does not remember all of the meals I served that she would not eat. She cries because she “doesn’t have any friends,” though I and members of my family and church congregation spend time (frequently hours a day) every day with her, even when she has often rebuffed our efforts. She tells all of my friends that I neglect her and leave her to sit all alone with nothing to do but look out the window.
What is the “blessing” in all of this? It has opened my eyes to the many times I have complained and rebuffed the gift-love of my gracious Giver. How often have I cried because I thought I wasn’t getting what I needed? How often have I forgotten His best efforts on my behalf? How often have I complained to others of my sad condition? How often have I been resentful that I couldn’t do or have things my own way?
I hope I learn and remember these crucial life lessons. It might make my approach to the shore a little less rocky. I pray it does.
Oh God, that madest earth and sky, the darkness and the day,
Give ear to this Thy family, and help as when we pray!
For wide the waves of bitterness around our vessel roar,
And heavy grows the pilot’s heart to view the rocky shore!
The cross our Master bore for us, for Him we fain would bear,
But mortal strength to weakness turn, and courage to despair!
Then mercy on our failings, Lord! Our sinking strength renew!
And when Thy sorrows visit us, oh send They patience too!
— Reginald Heber
