Distance

I did not learn much about Cleophus and Ruth.  They both obviously had some dementia, but they seemed to enjoy coming to worship.  They both took communion, and were warm and gentle with their gratitude.  I never saw them apart, so I was surprised to see Cleophus sitting at the table alone.  I handed him a song sheet and said hello.  He looked up and asked, "Where is my wife?" The activity assistant was standing close-by, and I could tell by the look on her face that this was not going to be an easy conversation.  I excused myself and went over to talk to her. 

 

Ruth had passed a few days ago.  Cleophus had been told several times, but he could not remember.  She said that his conservator was coming to pick him up the next day to move him closer to his sister.  No, she did not know where.   After the service, I went to Cleophus, and took his hand.  He looked at me and said, "I am lost, aren't I?" 

 

 "Cleophus, we are never lost in God.  Never."    

 

We talked for a bit more. Then, as I was leaving, the activity director, whose mother had just passed, wanted to give me a bag of chocolates.  As we were talking, Cleophus walked up and asked very cordially, "How are you doing?"  I knew that for a moment or two, he was at peace.  I also knew the anxiety and the questioning would return.  I also knew that I probably would never see him again.  

 

This experience has reminded me that the capacity to understand something of mortality and grief is a gift.  While we do not want to be completely engulfed by either (at least not for very long), without this wisdom that comes from painful experience, we are less than whole.  We risk not having a solid enough framework to carry us the distance we can and need to go.  Unfortunately, dementia can rob us of that gift.  Yet, God is always with us, even when we cannot fully comprehend or can simply travel no further.  Nothing can take that inheritance from us.

 

Cleophus and Ruth, I miss you, but I am grateful for this lesson your presence has taught me.  I shall do my best to spread the word. 

 

But this is what 

I can ask for you:

 

That in the darkness 

there be a blessing. 

That in the shadows

there be a welcome.

That in the night

you may be encompassed

by the Love that knows

your name. 

 

Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace