LOST and FOUND

Near the end of my mother's life, she needed help eating. For unknown reasons, she forgot how to eat.  At times, she even forgot how to swallow.  It would follow that most of the time, she forgot who we were - her daughters.  She lived in her own world - an imaginary place.  She would talk about her work and what she had done that day.  The concreteness of her wheelchair never impeded her reality.  The fact that she did not know where she was never bothered her.  Her reality was her perception.  She was lost.

Nursing homes are warehouses for the lost.  Most of the elderly and sick in nursing homes are not visited by family members; they are not remembered.  Most of the elderly have lost and are lost.

 

But, my sister found a way.  Taking account of her life, she knew she could not abandon the sick, the frail, the lost.  Sacrificing her time and energy and money to care for someone who could not call her by name. The nursing facility provided what was required - legally.  My sister provided what was required - morally.

 

Caring for the lost is always costly to the caregiver:  thinking about others first; finding a way to supply.  Stories from World War II are abundant with examples of heroics efforts to care for the lost.  It is heart-rending to read about people like Oskar Schindler or Corrie ten Boom.  My sister should have a book dedicated to her: a book about sacrifices made, about battles fought, about tears cried; a book about the quiet, unacknowledged hero of the everyday.  My sister, Sharon, made her choices for reasons greater than you would think.  She fought for my mother's dignity not because she was our mother, but because my mother was a human in need and should not be abandoned.  My sister fought to find a way.  Even though my mother was lost, she was found.

May you never be lost; and, if you are, then, may you be found.