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"I Am Here Only to Be Truly Helpful."
For nearly three decades, since I first discovered A Course in Miracles, that phrase from the book has guided my sense of purpose. It is a simple statement and points to a simple "yes" in the moment of choice. Much of the time. Not now. Not that simple.
Along with millions of other baby-boomers, we have embarked on a family journey into aging and changing roles. We are coming to terms with playing a caregiver role with parents and swapping it for the comforts of being cared for. They changed our diapers, encouraged us when times were tough, and guided our faltering steps. It is our turn. I am not ready. Will I ever be?
What does it mean to be truly helpful in this picture? I remember sitting at the kitchen table as a child, hunched over my coloring book as Mom and her sister shared concerns about my grandmother: "We can't let her..." "We have to make her..." "She can't do that."
Something about that conversation troubled me deeply. They were the children; she was the parent. How could they be so disrespectful?
My own Mom died young. She took me by surprise. Less than halfway across the bridge of denial, I realized she was gone. I was determined to learn from that, and to do better the next time.
Lyle's Mom has lived a long life. She has spent nearly 90 years raising a large family, baking cookies and pies, hosting everyone on the holidays. She has faithfully sent birthday cards to three generations of offspring and, as they have married, to their spouses. That is changing. Her attention span, her energy, and her strength have diminished...slowly at first, now at a quickening pace.
We are going to visit next week. This time we are going, not to be nurtured and babied and fed far too much delicious home-made candy, but to help. To be truly helpful. I struggle to know what that means.
The little girl in me is still shrinks from treating an elder as if she were a child. Respect is a visceral value for me. On the other hand, I fear using respect as an excuse to evade engagement. The needs for help are real. They are physical, mental, and emotional. They are not all pretty, and seldom easy. I remind myself that practical assistance need not carry patronizing overtones.
I need help, the kind of help that comes with prayer. I do not trust myself to know what is truly helpful. I do not trust that I will do or say the right thing. But it is not about me. That's hard to get over, but it's not. It is about being there, being engaged, and trusting to a higher power.
The passage from A Course in Miracles continues, "I do not need to worry about what to say or what to do, for He who sent me will direct me. I will be healed as I let Him teach me how to heal."
How have you dealt with your loved ones as minds and bodies fall short? I welcome your help with the learning curve.
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