To the Caregivers

This morning I woke up to read about a 7 year old boy who died from CF. His mother's writings about the excruciating journey grabbed me in a place so deep within, there are no words to respond. Her rawness, her honesty, her love and her sorrow were both devastating and beautiful because it all comes from a place of pure love.

Later the same morning, I was lucky enough to be one of the speakers at a caregiving conference. I entered the room with the grieving mother on my heart but not really expecting it to connect with my day. As I listened to the first speaker talk about the role of caregivers, the level of stress they live under and the struggles they experience but rarely acknowledge, my thoughts turned inward.

My mind scanned the years past. All 36 of them (that I could remember) played themselves like a song in my head and the melody was the same in every refrain: my mother, my father, my siblings and my friends. What they have gone through. The nights of worry while wiping my brow or watching me wretch. The financial burdens, the emotional burdens, the psychological burdens and the spiritual burdens are all too heavy to be weighed.

And yet they did not stop. They did not let go. They tolerated my moods, my good and bad treatment choices, my extreme physical needs and my emotional demands. They held me even when I had lost sight that they needed holding too. They loved me even when my mind and heart were too wrapped up in my own chaos to see it and properly return their love. They gave and they gave and they gave.

And how often did I say thank you? Not, "thank you for bringing me water," but a real thank you. For all of it. For their suffering as a result of my suffering.

Rarely, if ever.

How often did I hold their hand and ask what they needed, how they could be supported?

Rarely, if ever.

How often did I reveal to them the worry I felt in my gut when I allowed myself to wonder how they would make it through these stressful, sad times?

Rarely, if ever.

How could I let them give so much and give so little in return?

Today my eyes welled with tears as I tried to think of a way to express how much the caregivers in my life mean to me. How deeply I appreciate their selflessness and compassion. How vulnerable I feel to know I was at their mercy and how humbled I am to see how well they held me together.

Mom, Dad, Lori, Jill, Jay, Steve, Paul, Liz, Watts and all of those who held my broken pieces, I did not tell you because I don't know how. I did not tell you because sometimes I was so involved in my own crisis I was unable to see beyond it. I did not tell you because what you have done for me is beyond what I can really understand. I did not tell you because what you have done for me is beyond my capacity of expression.

I have been selfish. I have been clueless. I have been lost in my own survival. But, most of all, I have been silently grateful, silently overwhelmed, and silently embarrassed. When there is so much giving that it begins to feel absurd, it feels like there is no way to match it with poetic words or meaningful actions. So, stupidly, I just didn't try.

I am sorry I have not said it enough. With all my heart, I thank you. For the care I know about and the care I didn't even see. For each individual way you have cared for me while trying to keep a balance. For the times the balance was lost and you kept caring anyway but on a tilt. You are why I am here. You are what matters. You are the people I am honored to call family. I am so lucky.

I love you. I thank you.