Excerpts

THE CAREGIVER

     As I watched my wife enter the valley of the shadow of death, God manifested a degree of mercy in me that I did not know was there.  I knelt by her hospital bed every night and held her in my arms for the better part of an hour.  I sang songs to her that we had sung together, recited verses, and recalled funny stories that had happened to us over the years.

     One night, when she had been in a coma all day, I began singing to her.  I sang, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  You make me happy, when skies are gray.  You'll never know dear how much I love you.  Please don't take…" I stopped because I could not sing for the tears in my throat.

     Martha's lips began to move as she whispered, "Please don't take my sunshine away."

     When I learned that she could hear me, I sobbed uncontrollably.

     The situation was not always sad.  There were many times when I tried to keep upbeat by acting as silly as I could.  I discovered that jesting would sometimes cause Martha to become more alert and forget about her pain or restlessness. 

     One humbling duty I had was to empty and clean the bedpan or the bedside commode bucket after each use.  I had to learn to display much mercy before this task became a humorous one.  I created a song that I frequently used to cause Martha to laugh.  I sang, "Yes, I am the bucket-man, the bucket-man, the bucket-man."  I made games in the application of everything from suppositories to injections.  The painful procedures seemed a little less stressful to her when she laughed amidst the cries of agony.

     I tried to imitate cartoon characters or anything else that would make her laugh.  Some friends sent a book to us called Holy Humor.  It is a collection of church bulletin bloopers and jokes surrounding church life.  Martha loved to hear me read from this book.  When she laughed, her eyes brightened just enough to let me know that there was a healing effect in humor.  It certainly helped me.  I would always rather laugh than cry.