The Caregiver’s Journey
The caregiver has given time and love
in ways that people see and respect, even if they do not fully understand. But
the caregiver has received "gifts" from the dying person: trust and love of a
kind rarely experienced, and the dying experience itself. It is all of this and
something more that the caregiver receives. In trying to explain what it is
about, one man offered the following analogy that he referred to as "The
Journey."
Imagine helping a friend on a journey to a remote monastery
perched on top of a mountain. As you begin your trip, the path is fairly
clearly marked and the goal easily seen in the distance. But as you approach,
the monastery is often obscured by the tops of trees in the forests through
which you pass. And you say " if only we could get out of this woods, we would
be able to see the monastery again and see where we're going." And as you
continue the climb, the path fades and much is accomplished by guesswork. You
call on your friend for help. After all, this is his trip and he should know
what he's doing. But he becomes older and weaker and relies more on you moment
by moment.
Things get worse. You lose the path and you are tired and
hungry. But, he can not proceed alone and you can't leave him on the mountain
while you return to the warmth and safety of home. So, you find a new reserve
of strength, enough for both of you, and you continue up the mountain, for now
it is your journey, as well. You look at yourself anew and find that you have
gown older, become more mature like your friend, and you accept this as part of
the mutual trip. And in accepting your role as guide you find that you are
guided, that your friend, whose legs have crumpled beneath him by now, offers
you wellsprings of courage and hope. You drink deeply, for you realize that if
either of you are to make it to the top, it will need both of you guiding and
supporting the other in ways constantly changing and unimaginable.
One
day when you least expect it, the heavy cedar gates of the monastery are
suddenly dead ahead. The trip had become the whole purpose, it seemed, and the
monastery forgotten. But there it stands: Your friend's objective has been
reached The door opens to admit your friend and, as if you had performed the
ritual many times before, you hand your friend over the threshold. The door
closes, and you stand there numb, alone, bewildered.
Out of habit you
continue walking. It doesn't seem to matter in what direction, for each of the
possible paths lead back down from the mountain.
The trip down seems
easier than the trip up was. The mountain holds few surprises, now, and there is
ample time to sit and ponder before reaching the valley below. And somehow in
reviewing the trip with your friend, its moments of desperation and fear are
overshadowed by the times of giving and accepting, of sharing and journeying
together. Memory of the monastery fades and in its place stand crystal images of
points along the upward trek. There was the time you picked him up and carried
him across the rocks when his strength failed. And there was the time when you
slipped and lost your grasp, but he held you up and supported you with the power
of his mind. There was something special in those moments, something, which if
you could string all of those images together in just the right order, that
then, maybe then, you would understand.
As it is, you return to the
valley a different person, quieter and stronger, knowing only that you have been
a part of something .... holy. This friend shared with you his most personal
possession, his death. And though you can't quite comprehend its true value, you
find yourself hoping that you will have the ability to fully experience and
share your final journey with another wayfarer to whom you can pass on crystal
images.
Deep gratitude and celebration are the order of the day for those
of us who are called to assist in this challenge. The suffering, remember, is
found only in our refusal to let go, only when we refuse to go through the pain
and move to the other side. We get through by going through. The rewards are
wonderful: the joy and blessings that come from extending the self beyond its
own comfort zone; the knowledge we gain of life and death; the love that is lost
and found again on a higher plane; and the areas of awareness that are opened.
Grief is a healing process to be welcomed and not feared, for when it is allowed
to go its own course unobstructed, it will fill with wonder the void that the
loss created.
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