Father’s Day
Since this will be the last blog I write before Father’s Day, guess what subject I chose. If you said “Taking care of Daddy” you are right. (Which, by the way, is the name of the book I wrote in honor of my dad and that you can find in the archives, chapter by chapter.)
I owe so much to my Daddy, also known as J. Boyd Wright. Not only was he a faithful and loving husband to my mother and an exemplary Christian dad to his five daughters, but because of him the future changed dramatically for me when I was forty-seven years old. It was then that I became daddy’s primary caregiver, a position for which I volunteered and cherished. Although it meant a major move for our family – from pastoring a church in Brooklyn, New York to returning to my hometown of Burlington, North Carolina – we believed God called our family to take care of daddy.
Besides having the privilege of spending the last five years of Daddy’s life with him (most of my married life had been spent living away, although there were many visits and a heart-connection that was never broken), an entirely new future was opened to me after he went Home to heaven.
Just a few months after Daddy died in January 2003, I wrote down a plan for my future – one I had never considered before. It included returning to nursing school (I had left after one semester when I was 19) so I could work in long-term care. It was my way of giving back to those who had no one to take care of them at home; an expression of gratitude that God had allowed me to take care of daddy.
The children were grown; Randy was ensconced in his career as a social worker with ministry activities on the side; I had several grandchildren; and I was going back to school. It was not easy. I had to find my first-grade report card, take prerequisites, buy my own car, and drastically change my schedule to accommodate 7 a.m. clinicals at a hospital almost two hours away. The daily drive to the community college campus was only 40 minutes away. Two days before classes began, I was still on the waiting list. I’m pretty sure I remember begging the admissions counselor to let me in, explaining that “I wasn’t getting any younger.” The door opened. There were thirty-some in the class. Only fifteen graduated. I was one of them – well, actually the oldest one of them. Looking back, I know it was only the grace of God that got me through.
As a graduation gift, Randy took me on one of his annual mission trips to India, stopping off in London for a few days on the way home. Those were two places I had always dreamed of visiting. As soon as we returned, I took the state exam. None of the questions looked familiar. Well, maybe a few. I was notified a week later that I had passed.
Getting a job was easy; long-term care facilities can never find enough staff. My first job lasted about a year and a half. Such wonderful patients and families! It was hard to believe I was actually getting paid for providing care for these people. A new director of nursing (she looked about 18) didn’t appreciate my expressing some concerns with her about shortcomings in patient care and “let me go.” I was devastated but hired by a competing facility just a mile away. After five years, the director of nursing called my job performance “stellar” – and how I loved the patients and families. Unfortunately, he left and the new director of nursing (she looked about 80) “let me go” before she even met me. I was devastated, but not so much as the first time. My older sister Rodema was battling ovarian cancer and just a few days earlier had asked me, “Will you be my nurse.” I decided to spend more time with her, and the growing brood of grandkids, and with Randy. For years I had been working second shift while he worked first, so weekends were basically our only time together. Looking back – we had some pretty good weekends!
I did have some time on my hands and decided to finish writing a book I had begun years earlier. The main character became a nurse. At a writing seminar, the presenter suggested that writing a column for your local newspaper was a good way to break into publishing. So, I submitted a proposal. It was accepted by Madison Taylor, an excellent editor, and for the next six years I wrote the weekly column “Caregiver to Caregiver.” The column opened the door for me to speak about caregiving for many different groups. I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed this. I met so many dear caregivers, some of whom have become good friends.
One Monday, after submitting my column for that week, I received a phone call from the “new” editor (I wasn’t sure about his age, but to me he resembled a worn basketball) who informed me I was “too Christian” for his paper and his readers and I was once again, “let go.” I was disappointed, but not devastated. Been there. Done that. After a few months, I experienced first-hand and recovered from Guillain–Barré syndrome. Although I do not recommend learning about a rare disorder by actually coming down with it, I must admit it was a highly effective learning tool. I considered that since I had learned so many new things about caregiving from being at the receiving end, it was time I returned to writing about it, and you are reading the fruits of those labors.
Since first becoming Daddy’s caregiver, life has been interesting and fulfilling. There have been so many satisfying experiences that I would not have encountered otherwise. There have also been difficult times which the stamina and patience I learned from caregiving have enabled me to endure. Sometimes I wonder how I would have spent the past twenty years if Daddy had not needed me. I am so glad I answered the call.
If you have been called to serve as caregiver for your Dad, be thankful for that opportunity. Do not ever consider it a burden, but a blessing. You never know what doors may open for you.
If your dad is still living – whether or not he requires your care – lavish him with love this Father’s Day. It is likely that in the future, you will observe a Father’s Day without him. Look back fondly, not with regret.