Should I Tell Them?
I have been invited to share Without a Map: A Caregiver’s Journey through the Wilderness of Heart and Mind with a caregiver’s group this week. The invitation came months ago and I easily agreed. It will be an honor to share time and space with a group of caregivers and, of course, I will be glad to share my experience with others. After all, that’s why I wrote the book.
But now that the day is approaching, I have been wrestling with myself over how to share the story anew. It has been 9 years and 3 months since Dad died. Those caregiving years are a long time ago!
Even still, their resonance lives on deep within me. Lessons in presence and relationship and reciprocity continue to teach me. And Dad continues to teach me.
Yesterday, I began to write Dad a letter to wonder “aloud” about how to bring my story to this group. When I was caring for Dad, I periodically wrote letters to share the things that were on my heart and that didn’t feel helpful to speak aloud. In those letters, I could share my frustrations, worries, curiosity, and questions. Yesterday, I had only one question. To my delight, as soon as I asked it, the answers were clear and obvious. I’m still not sure exactly how the afternoon with the caregiver group will unfold but I will probably begin by sharing this letter that became a poem of sorts.
Should I Tell Them?
Should I tell them about the way the chocolate chip cookie we left in the car “saved for later” saved our afternoon more than once?
Should I tell them how it greeted us after we had walked into the chilly wind just a few minutes longer than was comfortable?
Or how it soothed our frustration that afternoon when your body struggled to fold in all the right places to get into the front seat of the car?
Should I tell them about the way we make a mess when we split it in half and the melty chocolate chips soothe our hearts and worries and we laugh and sigh as we take a bite?
Should I tell them that I have to pull over after I leave you to cry and cry because I don’t know if I am doing the right thing?
Should I tell them how heart-breaking it is that I don’t know if you have what you need, if I should do something more or different?
Should I tell them how the unknowns and shoulds and worries take up so much space that the sadness and joy and possibility are crowded into a corner?
Should I tell them that sometimes, at the most inopportune times, it all bubbles up in uncontrollable tears?
Should I tell them about the love that persisted even when words failed?
Should I tell them about the love that continues to blossom even now?
Should I tell them that we are held in a belonging to one another that is deeper and more persistent than this lifetime?
Should I tell them?
Yes. Tell them about the cookie.
Tell them about the tears.
Tell them about the love.
Remind them that we are all connected.
Assure them that we are not alone.
Show them that we are all in this together.
Be in this place of knowing when you show up for them.
Let them sense it in your presence, in the collective presence you all create together.
We are meant to step in close.
We are meant for connection.
We are meant for love.
Yes, tell them that.
We are meant for love.
