Caregiving at Both Ends of the Spectrum

As a new grandmother (again!), I find just how much I crave being around babies.  Our new little guy is just one month old with that indescribably soft skin and essence of perfection.  During one of my "staring at Miles" sessions last week, I felt that rush of emotions that happens when we are in the presence of ourselves caring deeply for someone else.  

I volunteer to change his diapers and his clothes when he gushes like a geyser.  In fact, I practically arm-wrestle the other grandparents for the honor.  I long to hold him for hours, touch the soft indentation on his upper lip, watch his expressions as he moves in and out from that deep sleep that still connects him between the wonders of his new individual life and the one he floated in for so many months inside his mother.  When he cries, I rush to figure out how to make him comfortable.  When he is silent, I check for breath, always ready to be afraid of not having him now that he is such a part of our lives.  When away from him, I imagine the weight of him, his fingernails, his tiny voice vividly, eager for the next time.

It occurs to me now, as I immerse myself in caring for this newest member of our family, that what we do to care for someone we love looks almost the same regardless of what end of the age spectrum he or she might be on.  I remember in the last months of my mother's life staring at her with that same combination of adoration and anxiety, heeding her calls and sighs, wiping her chin or the corners of her eyes, whatever it took to keep her comfortable.  The last time I touched her skin it was like glass, and nearly as fragile.  Her eyes focused rarely, but when they tracked on me I felt as if I were the only person in the world who mattered.  I rushed to her side when she cried and stared at her sleeping body for signs that she had not yet left us.  She barely spoke, more in touch, it seemed, with listening to whatever was connecting her again, calling her no doubt,  to the "other" side.  

As adults we nearly universally fear being in a position where someone will need to care for us again as they once did when we were babies.  We all hope for independence to the very end and some are granted this wish.  I know, though, having now cared for my mother and one of my brothers as they passed on from this life that this fear of dependence is one that dissipates when we become the caregiver.  I know now in a way I could not have known before those experiences that I do not flinch in the face of wiping away fluids, cradling a weak neck, staying awake through the night, watching for breath, and feeling that ever-present rush of emotions.  

I am grateful for Miles in countless ways, including this unexpected connection to one of the most tender places inside myself, caregiver.
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Kathryn Arbour is Founder and President of Capabilities, a Colorado-based health emporium with products for caregivers and individuals needing care.  Email Kathryn at kmarbour@capabilities.com with your questions about caregiving, including information about products and services, or with your own tender stories of caregiving. Visit http://capabilities.com.