MENDING

Our developmentally different daughter, Linda, 48, succumbed to breast cancer August 9, 2008. Death is abrupt. One day, I was a busy caregiver–the next, I had little to do. I was filled with grief, relief and guilt. It was a comfort to have cared for her all of her life.

When Linda was a toddler, I’d taught her the classic children’s bedtime prayer that ends, “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I didn’t expect to see it happen. The loss of a child, no matter what age, takes a piece of a parent’s heart and soul. I can’t replace what is gone–just mend what is left.

All aspects of my everyday changed. Ken and I sat at the ends of our oblong, kitchen table to eat meals. When we gathered as a family of five, our two daughters sat on one side and our son on the other. After Lisa and Kurt left home, we continued our positions. With just the two of us, my husband and I switched to sitting along the opposite sides to bring us closer together.

The next summer, Ken and I spent sixteen days on a tour of Alaska. It was the first time we took a long vacation together. In the past, we’d been fortunate to have caretakers we could hire for a day or an evening when we wanted to get away, but finding someone to stay with our daughter for longer periods was nearly impossible.

Little things remind us of Linda. The Cadbury Easter Bunny commercial made her laugh. Speeding through the dip between two hills on the Stateline Road brought a grin to her face when her stomach did a flip flop. Ken took a bite of a wiener and said, “Remember how Linda always bit into the side instead of the end of her hot dog?

Have you been a caregiver for an adult member of your family?