In case you missed it, we have a new little person in our family—Malcolm Edmund Guinn.  I say little, but comparatively speaking, he might not have qualified as such upon arrival.  At 8 pounds, 14 ounces and 21 inches long, he was a big boy.  And at his two month check-up he was in the 96 ^th percentile for head size.  So . . . there’s that.

My daughter and son-in-law are in their mid-thirties and this is their first child, by choice rather than chance.  Being that age, they may have a jump on younger parents; at least there is the illusion of maturity that someone ten years their junior might not have.  And although they read all the books and tried to prepare in all the ways, Malcolm has still gifted them with a few surprises . . . like acid reflux . . . and a disdain for naps . . . Those things coupled with a C-section and the required recovery time have, on occasion, left my little one a bit frazzled.  It’s not that her husband isn’t helpful—he is far beyond that.  But when he goes to work and she’s home on Malcolm’s less cooperative days, it can be a bit overwhelming.

A few Sundays ago she called, and I could tell from her voice something was amiss.  Malcolm had awakened from his nap much earlier than anticipated (imagine that . . .) and, while she was tending to him, Josie, their slightly oversized, sometimes inside, sometimes outside, presently-wearing-a-cone-of-shame-because-she-wouldn’t-stop-scratching-her-ear-until-it-bled dog had managed to knock over a partial cup of coffee left out from that morning.  And the remains of said coffee were now all over their relatively new couch.

As she stood holding Malcolm and looking at the coffee stained sofa, she saw the other dishes that hadn’t been washed . . . and the thank you notes still waiting to be written . . . and the cat hair that had accumulated in the corners . . . and the dust on the furniture . . . and the stuff still piled in the living room from when they began decluttering the house before Malcolm’s arrival . . . and suddenly it was all just too much.  When I offered to come clean the sofa, she declined, too concerned about the condition of her house to allow her own mommy to enter.

I asked her if she remembered my desk . . .

I went, despite her protests, and cleaned the coffee off the sofa (commercial plug for Simple Green—it will clean the world while generally not making a bigger mess) and then gave her a giant mommy hug and assured her that this, believe it or not, was normal.  Malcolm was normal.  Being overwhelmed was normal.  Not being the perfect whatever was normal.

You know, parents with young children have an enormous responsibility as caregivers, but hopefully, their end result will be a responsible adult who will make a positive contribution to society . . . and care for them in their old age . . . if they aren’t the death of them first.  But what about those who are tending to someone they love during their last days?

Those last days can truly be days.  They can also be weeks, or months, or even years.  And all the while they know what the future holds.  This person they love, this person for whom they are caring, will leave them.  They just don’t know when.  There will be pain and there will be grief—and the overwhelming sadness that lurked in the shadows as they filled the role of a caregiver will be multiplied by a million when Death finally does arrive.  And then they will question whether or not they did enough.

We tend to forget those who are traveling this lonely, isolated road and, although they never wanted the journey, they would not have it any other way.  To care for someone as Death approaches is a privilege and an honor.  It is also an overwhelming responsibility that can mentally, physically, and emotionally drain the caregiver.  It’s no wonder that person often dies before the one for whom they are caring.

We can do a lot to help lighten that load, but it requires more than just a “Let me know if you need anything” offer.  Think about what you would want if the situation was reversed.  Maybe the conversation needs to be “I’m going to the store.  Can I do your shopping for you?” or “I just finished cooking supper and I’m coming over with yours,” “I’d like to pick up a couple of coffees and come for a visit.  What time would be good for you?” or better yet “Why don’t I come stay a few hours and you can run some errands or just get some rest?”  Even if they don’t accept your offer, at least now they know you are there for them.  And sometimes, just knowing that someone, somewhere cares enough to clean up the coffee and give you a hug makes all the difference in the world.

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