A Caregiver Cries

When you are sorrowful
look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth
you are weeping for that
which has been your delight.
-- Kahlil Gibran

I began to cry yesterday morning. I simply started crying yesterday morning and didn't stop until 3:00 a.m. today.

I don't know why, don't know the cause of my tearfulness, although it probably had something to do with the grieving process, my grieving process in losing Romeo to dementia. I'm grieving the loss of my husband to dementia, grieving the loss of his presence at home, grieving the loss of the future we had anticipated before dementia, grieving for his pain and suffering, grieving for the love of my lifetimes.

Nothing in particular sparked my tears. Nothing in general sparked my tears. They simply came, flowing strongly, loudly. No thoughts, just tears.

I let them flow. I sat cross-legged on the couch with a box of tissues, and I cried. I moved to the dining room table, and I cried. I got up and moved to the desk in the study, and I cried. I jumped onto the bed and hugged the pillows, and I cried. I sat cross-legged in the comfy, overstuffed chair in the study, and I cried. I went to visit Romeo in the nursing home (probably not a wise move), and I cried. I came home and sat cross-legged on the couch with a box of tissues and started the cycle again. Nothing to do but let it out. It kept coming. I soaked in my spa tub and cried into the lavender aromatherapy bath. The tears kept coming, my sobs matching the rhythm of the water spouting from the jets.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, as quickly as it started, it stopped. There were no more tears. They were gone. I was quiet for the first time that day. And I felt better. I finally felt better. The sadness and grief were gone...for now.

Tired and spent, with nothing more to give, I crawled into bed, under the comforting pressure of the blanket and the soft sheets. I ran my hands through my hair, massaged my face, neck, and head. I thought of my sweet Romeo and wondered what we could have been thinking to stage such a difficult life as this for ourselves. And then exhausted, body pulled into a fetal position, I slept the long and dreamless sleep of a newborn baby. Held, cradled, showered with unconditional motherly love, I slept soundly for five hours then woke refreshed to a new day.

A Caregiver's Release and Gratitude

Debbie sat on the floor next to me in the back of the room by the soundboard. We were nearly done for the day, and I was getting a head start at packing up, listening to the music playing during our break. It was day two of a two-day spiritual course and event I was helping with, that I regularly help with.

"I took the rose petals," Debbie said, "from the chairs for the cosmic beings yesterday and put them all around Romeo's photograph on the alter. It's so cute."

I wanted to see it. I gave her a hug, took a few deep breaths, and walked to the alter at the side of the room where I placed the photo earlier in the day. The white rose petals framed Romeo's face and gave him a playful, loving aura, like a sweet Santa Claus, a woodland Pan. It made me laugh.

I continued to chuckle inside of myself and stood staring at the photo, spontaneously connecting with Romeo's spirit, his soul, again, as I had been doing on and off throughout the day. I remained standing, gazing at the photo, the rose petals, the candles, feeling Romeo's presence and the Presence that is always there no matter where we are. I turned quiet and serious.

I told these two Presences, "You know, Romeo has been struggling lately with the fact that his dementia is now so severe that I can't take care of him any longer, that he has to live in a nursing home. The struggle consumes his days. He is suffering because of it. He doesn't want to suffer. I don't want him to suffer. Our friends and family don't want him to suffer. Please help him to surrender, to accept what is. Please lift his suffering." And I cried.

My tears flowed freely. I don't know how long I stood there, my love magnifying while the emotions cranked up, skipped to a higher level. I let them. The song playing now was Kabir's Song, by Snatam Kaur:

Oh, my Soul, you come and you go
Through the paths of time and space.
In useless play you'll not find the way
So set your course and go.

Sing such a song with all your life
You'll never have to sing again.

Love such a one with all your heart
You'll never need to love again....

Walk such a path with all of your faith
You'll never have to wander again...

Breathe, my Soul, breathe, my Soul,
Breathe from the quiet center...

I continued to stand there, crying and talking to the Presences. Soon, a physical presence, standing behind me, arms around me, holding me and holding the space for me. It was another friend, Mitch, allowing me to do this, to release, to talk with the Presences. His grace, his attention gave me the space to accept the magnifying love of the Presences that came to me in wave after wave of energy.

That day, yesterday, was large and full. Many people -- some of them not really knowing how much they've helped -- came to me with words that I needed to hear, with hugs that I lapped up, with a simple presence that I leaned on. Dear friends -- Debbie, Matt, Mitch, Dan, Regena, Nancy, Kristi, Kathryn, and many, many others throughout the past few months -- your steady support, your understanding, your spirit means more to me than you can ever know. I have so much gratitude in my heart for all of you that I don't know what to do with it. It overflows and releases in the form of my tears. I love all of you deeply. Thank you. Each of us travel a long road, and we all feel the strain of the journey. Bless each of you.

Here is part of Kabir's Song, by Snatam Kaur.