 |
| Joe and I November 2014 |
“Do you take
this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day
forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,
until death do you part?”
It had a
poetic, almost lyrical sound to it. Joe
was 42, I was 32. The notion that we
would someday test those vows was so far into an abstract future that I doubt we
truly thought beyond the present burning love that we felt for each other. (I
can almost hear Johnny Cash in the background singing “Ring of Fire”.)
But how
could we think that far into the future?
We still had all the present to live through. We were still making our
future.
Last week we
sat in the front row during the marriage ceremony of our grandson as he answered
that same question, committed to the same vows, spoke the same promises to his
bride. I have to admit that while I held
back tears my mind wandered to my own wedding day, and for a few seconds I took
a walk down memory lane.
From the
first time I met Joe I was attracted to him.
Always upbeat and happy, he moved with purpose, aware of everything
around him, catching every detail. He
was a guy who got things done, two steps at a time. When we walked together I always felt like I was
trotting to match his pace, and occasionally I’d have to ask him to slow
down. (Wow, slow down? It sounds odd to say that now.)
But it wasn’t
just physically challenging to keep up with Joe. I sometimes felt like the
runner-up on the “Jeopardy” show, with him just inching in for the win. It was like matching wits with Ken
Jennings.
We’d taken
care of each other. He had my back, and
I had his. We’d been through a lot and
survived, even an attempted mugging in Paris where Joe stepped in between me
and a guy we both thought had a gun. (A
valiant and courageous gesture, but not the smartest thing Joe ever did.)
But on that
day, at our grandson’s wedding, I held Joe’s hand with a clear understanding
that I am evolving, not just his wife and partner, I am now his caregiver, it’s
the agreement I made with him 35 years ago.
I had no idea that Al would show up in our lives; that he would move in
and cause so much disruption. How could I? We were both young and
indestructible.
Just as I
see changes in Joe, I see myself changing, morphing into someone I hardly
recognize. I know I won’t ever be the
same person again, but who will I become?
How will being a caregiver change me?
They say the
most challenging experiences teach you the most. I’d like to think I’ll become wiser, kinder, less
fearful and more patient. I know I’ll be
more grateful for many of the things I once took for granted. I somehow thought we would always be the same
in mind if not body (certainly older, but still the same). I underestimated the value of and became used
to the good life, with both of us healthy and vibrant.
Now we
appreciate the good days (and there are gratefully some), the times when we can
still have conversation and share and enjoy things together without Al getting
in the way and tromping through the roses, so to speak. I think you can’t know the value or judge the
quality of life before you have the experience of living it.
Lately, I’ve
been visualizing ways to foil Al’s intrusions. If only there was a way to lure
him into a corral and keep him there where he can’t get to Joe.
Years ago,
we lived in a beautiful place with a huge deck almost surrounded by tall pine
tree. We worked hard to make it a
comfortable and attractive place to relax with family and friends. But there were dozens of squirrels living in
the trees and they decided it was their deck.
Every time we bought something nice the squirrels destroyed it. They ate patio furniture, chewed through
power lines, and even started gnawing on the deck itself. The fuzzy little guys were driving us crazy.
When I
couldn’t take it anymore, I bought a humane squirrel trap, baited it with
peanut butter and started my own squirrel relocation project. I moved dozens of
the little vandals deep into the woods, hoping that they wouldn’t find their
way back. A few did, but their love for
peanut butter always landed them back to the woods.
