Where Do We Learn the Art of Caregiving?

Mom, age 86, my caregiver through
breast cancer. Loving her rootbeer
and being able to hear TV clearly. 2010

Grudge no expense—

yield to no opposition—

forget fatigue—

till, by the strength of prayer and sacrifice,

the spirit of love shall have overcome.

~Marie Weston Chapman

Thousands of people attend college to become a caregiver. Not me, I learned the “art of caregiving” from my mom.

When my Uncle Larry’s wife died in a car accident, she left behind 5 children under the age of five. Mom left Dad and me in charge of my younger siblings and she drove a hundred miles south to stay with my uncle and help with his kids.

When a limb fell from a tree and hit my Uncle Tommy in the head no one expected him to live, but he did. He suffered massive brain damage. Mom volunteered to stay with Aunt Elnora and help Uncle Tommy recover—a real challenge for both my aunt and my mom. I remember Mom talking about how she helped teach him to count again—she played cards with him for hours.

When my grandfather struggled with emphysema, Mom often drove the hundred miles south and stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. My grandmother didn’t drive.  Mom helped with grocery shopping and doctors visits—she also became good company for both of them.

When mom didn’t have a relative to take care of, she often visited the shut-in up the road or sent plates of food and homemade bread to those who were too sick to take care of the family.  

And Dad, well that’s another story.

Still Lionhearted, Kat