I do not believe that the Fifth Commandment is just for young children. It is imperative that we honor our parents throughout our lives, and especially when they grow old and need our care. Throughout history, this has been a given. In many cultures today, it still is. In America, it seems that this duty is too often turned over to institutions. According to the U.S. Bureau of the Census, slightly over 5 percent of the 65+ population occupy nursing homes, congregate care, assisted living, and board-and-care homes, and about 4.2 percent are in nursing homes at any given time. The rate of nursing home use increases with age from 1.4 percent of the young-old to 24.5 percent of the oldest-old. Almost 50 percent of those 95 and older live in nursing homes.

Working as a nurse in long-term care convinced me that it would not have been the place for my parents to spend the their last days. Both would have been quite uncomfortable – not just physically but emotionally. Many nights, as I drove home from my second shift position, I would breath a prayer of thankfulness to God for making it possible for both my mom and dad to stay home as their health declined and throughout the ebbing days of their life. 

But if a widow has children or grandchildren, these should learn first of all to put their religion into practice by caring for their own family and so repaying their parents and grandparents, for this is pleasing to God.

I Timothy 5:4

My eldest daughter, Rachel, took care of my mother after she suffered a stroke when she was eighty-one years old. Rachel was nineteen. Following is a column I wrote previously as a tribute to Rachel.

Thank You for Taking Care of Mother

We celebrated Mother’s 81^st birthday the same month she suffered a debilitating stroke. Her talented hands would never again fashion a dress fit for a princess or a one-of-a-kind quilt or a fabric doll with embroidered eyes. She would now require round-the-clock care.

We were visiting from Brooklyn, New York, where we had been living for the last seven years while serving as urban missionaries. Several times I heard the phrase “nursing home” mentioned by other family members. Surely not. Not for mother. If I had heard her say it once, I had heard her say it a thousand times: “Don’t ever put me in a nursing home.” Mother and one of her best friends had shared that sentiment. Sure enough, when her friend’s family had placed her in a nursing home, she showed them…she died within days.

What to do? I just could not see my mother in a nursing home. She was a woman of modesty and dignity. Being changed and bathed by strangers would be humiliating. She disliked being called “sugar” and “honey” and “sweetheart” by anyone other than her husband. What would she do in a place where those pet names often supplant your own? She was used to a comfortable bed and soft sheets. How would she sleep in a narrow bed with a plastic-covered mattress and harshly washed linens?

Randy and I had the conversation. If necessary, I would return home for a season to take care of Mother. Although I had a great deal of ministry responsibilities in Brooklyn, as well as serving as teacher for our two youngest who were still being home-schooled, we could make it work. But we didn’t have to.

She was only nineteen and was working in a position she really enjoyed. Although she had no experience taking care of an elderly person, she had done a great job helping with her younger siblings. Doing this would require giving up her job and moving, but she was willing. In fact, she wanted to take care of her grandmother.

Mother was lying still in her bed when I told her that Rachel would soon be coming to live with and help take care of her. She turned her head slightly, made eye contact with Rachel, and replied, “I thought you might want to do that.”

We returned to Brooklyn a few days later and helped our daughter prepare for the move and her new assignment. I knew our family – especially her two younger sisters – would miss her terribly, and we did.

Rachel was a natural at caregiving. Lots of love and patience. No complaining. She had only been away from us two months when she called on a Monday morning in September. “Grandma’s gone home to be with Jesus.” We listened to each other’s sobs for a moment before she spoke again. “Grandpa and Aunt Rachel and I were with her. How Great Thou Art was playing.” That was my Mother’s favorite hymn.

The next morning we headed south on I-85, making our way to N.C. for Mother’s funeral. It was so good to embrace my oldest daughter and thank her for taking care of my mom.

We were all looking forward to having her back home with us in Brooklyn, but she chose to stay a little longer and help my Dad as he adjusted to living by himself for the first time in six decades. In December, she and Daddy traveled by train to New York City and we spent Christmas together. She returned home in February, just in time to celebrate her twentieth birthday.

I will always be grateful to my daughter Rachel for her willingness to serve as my mom’s caregiver and for being with Daddy during a difficult time. And I can truly say, looking at her now alongside her charming husband and surrounded by their nine precious children, that God has truly blessed her! 

Three years later, when it became evident that Daddy could no longer live by himself, I volunteered to be his caregiver. I have shared that journey with you…a journey I was glad to take, even though the path was not always easy; certainly, it was worth it.

Maybe you have read something in this book that lets you know in your heart, you can also travel that journey if you are needed. If you accept the challenge to take care of your Daddy or Mama when you are called upon to do so, then I will have accomplished my goal.

Some of my favorite columns that I wrote for the Times News are included as a supplement. Paul Mauney, the editor at the time, generously gave me permission to use them and I thank him.

In closing, I will share the column I wrote on the fourteenth anniversary of Daddy’s homecoming. 

Encouragement for the journey

“I am tired and weary, but I must toil on…” I dare say this introductory line from Peace in the Valley by Thomas A. Dorsey (not to be confused with Tommy Dorsey, Jr. the great American jazz trombonist and bandleader) resonates strongly with many caregivers. 

Thomas A. Dorsey, who is known as the “father of gospel music,” endured many hardships during his ninety-three years, including the death of his wife and newborn son when he was only thirty-three years old. In his grief, he wrote his most famous song, Precious Lord, Take My Hand. It is interesting to note the similar thought, “Lead me on, let me stand, I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m lone,” appears in this composition. He composed Peace in the Valley five years later. 

When was the last time you thought or spoke a similar sentiment? Was it upon awakening after a fitful sleep, interrupted by too many calls for help during the night? Was it following a heated discussion with family members over who was neglecting their responsibilities? Maybe you moaned the words – after changing the bed linens for the fifth time that day – as you collapsed despairingly onto the sofa. Perhaps you proclaimed your exhausted yet determined state following being yelled at by your loved one; or being called an ugly name; or being told, “get out of my house!” 

No one ever said caregiving was going to be easy; but I believe those who declare, “I must not give up!” – even when the role becomes strenuous and demanding – will never regret their decision.

Fourteen years ago this week, my first caregiver position ended abruptly when my dad died in my arms – in his home, on his farm, where he had lived two-thirds of his 91 years. I still consider taking care of Daddy the last five years of his life as one of the best blessings God could have given me. 

There were so many good times – memorable moments and events that I will forever hold dear to my heart. There are not many days that pass by when some remembrance of the time Daddy and I had together does not pop into my head; those recollections – even the ones that seemedarduous at the time – always make me smile. Numerous days I could have sung those lyrics penned by Mr. Dorsey; but those times now seem so distant; so inconsequential. A few things in life are worth enduring difficult days and sleepless nights. Being able to provide tender care to someone you love is certainly one of those contexts.

I will always be grateful that God allowed me the privilege of taking care of Daddy.

It was an honor.