How Are You Doing?

The question most often posed to me, next to "How's your husband?" ("Doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances"), is "How are you doing?" I appreciate each and every demonstration of care and concern, and I receive them all as being sincerely meant from the heart, even if they are in passing. I mean it. Thank you so much!

Commonly, in response, I plaster a big smile on my face and say, "Hanging in there!" Yes, I really am hanging in there. By my fingernails. I am not whining about that, nor am I complaining about my lot in life. I am simply worn out. I am worn out physically. I am worn out emotionally. I am weary of this long, stressful, depressing battle. Especially in the past few months, I am realizing that navigating through difficult times is completely exhausting, an exhaustion I am beginning to think might be permanent.

I worry about my husband and wonder how much longer he will have to suffer, though I continue to hope and pray for healing and restoration. It is despiriting to visit him in a facility instead of being able to care for him at home as I had hoped to do. It is so hard to watch him disappearing before my very eyes, his dignity stripped from him, his ability to communicate meaningfully long gone. Poor man! I wonder how many more pieces of my heart there are left to shatter.

But, really, how many times can you hint at these things without discouraging and burdening others, even close friends? People have their own trials to deal with, some of which are so much more exacting, exhausting, debilitating, and demoralizing. I know this, and so I don't tend to dwell on my troubles "in public." Well, not usually. But you did ask, so it's all your fault!

We "do life" better in community, where we can bear one another's burdens. We can pray for, encourage, and care for each other. We can offer words of comfort and shoulders to cry on, even if they are figurative shoulders from miles or continents away. So, again, thank you for holding us up in prayer all these years. Thank you for being there, for asking how we're doing, for thinking about us, and for being concerned for our welfare. I hope you know I'm here for you, too. And if my husband were to miraculously be his real self again, so would he be. Because there is nothing he wouldn't do for a friend.

Death Comes to Journey House

April 29, 2019


Two more residents have passed away, one yesterday and one today. That makes a total of six since my husband moved in last June. I can't say either one of these two was a surprise, exactly, except that death always is surprising, even when it's expected.

It is very hard on the caregivers, who do such a fine job of nursing and changing and feeding and showing affection to each and every one. To be the ones responsible for each resident's best possible life, at the very end of life, must be both a privilege and a curse. As each person declines little by little, or sometimes quite rapidly, how difficult it must be to maintain a cheerful and encouraging demeanor.

Even as a visitor, as I am, you develop a fondness for the residents, an understanding of their quirks, a camaraderie and community with their friends and relatives. And then, suddenly, they're gone. Gone gone. He won't be grabbing my hand and holding it tight as I walk by anymore. She won't be returning my greeting with a sweet smile. It's sad from our angle. But from their point of view, I'm sure it's glorious to be free!

As my husband and I walked and swayed to the music coming through our headphones today, I held him more closely. I gave him extra smiles and plenty of kisses. I stroked his cheek gently and gazed tenderly into his eyes. I showered him with words of love and admiration. I savored every moment.

Would that we all could remember that life is a gift, a fleeting vapor. Some things really matter. And some things really don't.