Upon arriving to the rehabilitation center where my 94 year old father is hopefully improving enough to go home soon, yet another caregiver was truly giving care. She had my father’s hands in hers and was intently trying to hear what he was feebly saying. It takes a special kind of person to be a caregiver.
To be excellent at this post, she must be patient and kind, long-suffering and able to perceive hurt or pain, longing and need. Our family has two caregivers, both of which are not paid enough. Who could pay them their worth? I think not anyone, for they are like a rare gem.
My father’s wife, tender in her own right, laboriously stays with him every day at the center. She herself seems to know his moods, wants and needs just by his moves. He does not really need to tell her, for she seems to know by the love she has for him. Sweet indeed.
Yesterday both Mom and the scheduled Monday caregiver were coddling him, nudging and caring for his every whim. Today, he had is eyes on the on the painted finger nails of the other caregiver. I doubt he even noticed the manicure but for sure felt her warmth.
Everyone has a purpose in life. May we all find ours and do the job we were supposed to do.
