I’m my wife’s caregiver.
Pray for her. I’m so completely unqualified for this. But I’m trying.
A few months ago the neurologist informed Bertha’s daughter and me that all the tests reveal she has Alzheimer’s. “Her brain is atrophying. It’s going to get worse.”
So far, she’s done all right, I assume. She mostly sleeps. Around the clock, every two or three hours, she goes to the bathroom and looks for something to eat in the kitchen. So, my role is keeping foods handy on the kitchen counter and washing the bed clothes regularly and seeing that she takes her meds morning and evening.
A friend sent a chart of the seven stages of dementia. If it’s reliable, then we’re at stage five, looks like.
At night as I lie down beside her, I try to think of what more I could be doing. What did I leave undone? What am I missing? What’s on the agenda for tomorrow and what can I do to prepare for it tonight?
So, today in the mail came this card from a friend of fifty years containing a Max Lucado quote.
One day I believe you’ll hear the Lord say, “I’m so proud that you let Me use you. Because of you, others are here today. Would you like to meet them?”
And on the inside my friend wrote, As I pray for you, I am sometimes impressed to pray against sadness and discouragement. Please remember that God has you and Bertha in His hands. And He and I love you very much. I praise Him for putting you in my life in my sophomore year at Mississippi College.
I teared up.
Now, it appears to me that what the Max Lucado quote is saying is: You’re doing good. Keep it up.
That’s so hard for me. As the caregiver for my wife Bertha, most nights when my head hits the pillow I’m feeling like a failure. I’m not doing well. Do I dare leave her for an hour tomorrow while I run to the grocery, the cleaners, post office, and bank? Will I come home one day and find that she is in trouble?
The word angst comes to mind. It’s a generalized feeling that something is amiss. Sortof a floating anxiety.
That’s what I feel at night.