Amy Jo Schenewark worked in law enforcement for ten years, specializing in training and development, communications and "stings." Having fulfilled her husband's dream of having of six boys, she dreams of having chickens and bees, big gardens and decadent desserts, and wearing pink dresses.
Earlier this summer, Amy packed up her six boys, and moved to New Hampshire for two months so that she could care for her younger sister Becky and her family, while Becky was bedridden due to a difficult pregnancy and subsequent surgery. Amy writes:
I remember listening to NPR one evening while Bob Woodruff's wife recounted some of her experiences in taking care of her traumatic brain-injured husband. He was injured in Iraq while reporting for ABC news. I thought, "Wow. I'm glad I'm not there. I don't know how people do it," people meaning caregivers. I expected one day I'd be taking care of my aging parents, they're just not there yet. I remember my mother taking care of her father. It began from weekly checks on him at his house, to moving him to her house, and then a care facility. I know she gave him all her spare time, thoughts and energy.
When Bob's wife, Lee, took phone calls from caregivers, I could sense their immediate connection. They were instant friends because they both understood the burden they carry. The unrelenting, never ending, sometimes frustrating, often draining and physically exhaustive service to a family member.
When I became a necessary caregiver this summer, I remembered those thoughts, but tucked them away in a safe place because I knew they could overwhelm me.
I labored for my sister, for her children, for my children, her handicapped child, and for my long distance husband. I cooked and cleaned, as usual, it was just for more people. I gardened. I gathered medicines and supplies, learned about machines and equipment, signed for and unpacked medical supply deliveries, made mistakes, learned how to stay ahead of the curve. I suctioned, hooked up G-tubes, put in a catheter, mixed feeding bags, drew prescriptions.
One day I was in the grocery store, waiting for my items to be scanned, when one item set off a beep that was like an alarm at home. It scared me because I thought Ben was having oxygen issues. Or Becky's IV bag was empty. Until I remembered where I was.
These two months have seemed liked a lifetime. I forget what my house looks like, who my friends are, what my husband smells like. And I wonder:
How do caregivers keep going?
Who supports them when they want or need a break?
How do they deal with emotional drains?
How do they fulfill their own dreams?
How long should they put their dreams on the backburner?
Or are they too tired to have dreams?
Caring for Becky and her family was fulfilling not only because I care deeply about Becky, but also because I was succeeding at something I never dreamed capable of doing. But it was never ending, and I had no down time. And I didn't even have to do nights. I also knew this was temporary; two months of my time. It brought a new perspective to a caregiver's life.
***
I have spoken frequently of the journey of feminine psychological development, one in which we learn to say 'no', the word of protection, in addition to 'yes', the word of connection.
In reading Amy's post, I realized that in encouraging women to dream, there is an a priori assumption (one that is well-founded based on the women I know) that we have already mastered the 'yes'. The fact is -- some of us do 'yes' better than others, either because we come by it naturally, because our circumstances have pushed us to practice more, or both.
Amy's essay is a lovely reminder that as we embark on our hero's journey, it is a journey only worth doing so long as the 'why' -- the saying 'yes' to our loved ones -- never ceases to matter.
Whenever I think of you and the care that you provided me and my family this summer...I get teary. You were my angel, my best friend, you still are. I wasn't always easy to care for...I know that, but you NEVER showed anything but pure love and charity. I love you dear sister and thank you.
Posted by: Becky Orton | August 09, 2009 at 09:59 PM
Amy, what a great essay! You are a gem. I can't imagine doing what you did, WITH your six boys in tow... what an amazing summer of charity. I know that you are showing your boys the true meaning of loving service. What a tremendous gift. And welcome home.
Posted by: Jenny | August 10, 2009 at 09:39 PM
I had the gift of caring for my aunt 10 years ago for three months as she prepared to die from lung cancer. We nursed her at home and I was her primary carer. I had no children or husband to concern myself with. And only did nights for the last week or two. I learned more about myself than I ever had to that point. I remember thinking at the time that it was relatively easy to do this for someone I deeply loved but that true charity would be to have the capacity to do it for anyone. Not sure I could. But I am so grateful I got the chance for Chrys. I still miss her desperately. Amy, I have a small insight in to your experience, and as always, am in awe of caregivers. Thank you for sharing your opportunity and blessing with us.
Posted by: Chrysula Winegar | August 11, 2009 at 02:17 AM
This past winter my husband and I took in my mother-in-law (Alzheimer's) while we considered more permanent arrangements. Her care fell almost entirely to me, although she and I were oil and water (to put it mildly). Despite our prior disagreements, I was the one who insisted she move in with us. I had received one of those rare lightning bolts of inspiration that told me I was "it" for her. I can't claim that it was charity. It was simply something I had to do. She passed away quite unexpectedly in May (a blessing for all involved, not least for her). When she died, I felt a literal physical burden lift from my shoulders. I had not appreciated how heavy the burden was, nor that I had received divine help in carrying it. In 2 Nephi 2:2, Lehi's dying words to Jacob are that God "shall consecrate thine afflications for thy gain." After this experience, these words (which I had never noticed before) pierced my heart. When we experience specific trials, we also receive specific blessings to manage them. Our capacities expand to bear our burdens.
Posted by: EHD | August 11, 2009 at 10:49 AM
I have watched as mother mother's life has increasingly revolved around caring for my 97 year old grandmother. She often remarks it is like having a new baby only harder becasue you can't just take them with you where ever you go. I am amazed at the stamina it requires. I love those questions you ask Amy Jo.
Posted by: Leslie Graff | August 11, 2009 at 12:39 PM