After several years straight of focusing all efforts on maintaining my late wife’s health through cancer treatments, and stumbling through financially, I had some catching up to do on my own health in 2013.

The previous year ended with a tumble and a shudder. In September of 2012 I crashed my bike and broke my collarbone in a Southwest Wisconsin cycling trip. That same weekend, my wife experienced a series of seizures that should have sent her to the hospital, but she refused. I came home to a surgery but was back on my bike in about four weeks’ time. Her seizures continued, and got worse. That wasn’t a good sign, so I needed that exercise to keep sane as things progressed. Blessedly, at that time the church we attended stepped in with money to help us pay our bills when I was out of work taking care of things.

Then all the “end of life events” came about. I’ve already related those. All that I knew was that I had to carry on.

By late spring and early summer of 2013 I was working as a senior copywriter bringing in money and working through past and current medical debts using some of the money from her Teacher’s Retirement Fund. It felt good to have a chunk of money in the bank, but cremation costs and paying off hospital and hospice bills ate into that quickly.

Then there were the dental costs I incurred. I finally had insurance but didn’t check carefully enough what it would cover (the dreaded ‘out of network!) when it came time for a pair of long-overdue root canals and crowns. Before I knew it, $6000 flew out the door.

I’ve never been good with money. Truth is I don’t care enough about money to always worry over bills and expenses. Yet that same habit causes the problems I most want to avoid. Add in the ADHD and forgotten costs at times, and things tend to swirl around in my head. I’m not an impulsive buyer. That’s never been the problem. More often it’s the day-to-day “spend” that adds up.

Then when big expenditures roll in the burden tumbles over me like a landslide. Anxiety piles on after that. Rumination doesn’t help. Throw in some work problems or doubts about the past and even a break from total stress like I felt after my wife’s passing tends to collapse upon itself.

Still, it felt good to have my teeth cleaned and cavities routed out. The dentist sold me an electric toothbrush but I hated the feel of it. Tickled more than helped. But after a months of treatments and dental visits, I at least felt like my mouth was back together. It’s astounding how dental health affects the whole you.

Taking care of yourself as a caregiver is a challenge at which many seem to fail. The pressing needs of a person at risk of dying from a disease or recovering from some life event take over the psyche. For weeks after my wife’s passing the synapse of ‘what do I need to do for her’ flickered through my head. I also kept thinking about my son and daughter. Was I doing enough for them? Was there anything I could do for them? How does one fill the void with the loss of their mother? I alternately dreaded making mistakes with determination that my examples of strength might somehow sustain and encourage them to carry on. That felt inadequate on many occasions. I forgot the good advice that a counselor at Living Well Cancer Resource Center once posed in a question, “You seem to be good at forgiving others. How are you at forgiving yourself?”

Here’s the thing: I was no longer done as a caregiver after my late wife’s passing. I was still responsible for my stroke-ridden father whose almost daily calls reminded me that there was still a washboard road of caregiving ahead. I’d be at work concentrating on writing SEO copy for a website when the phone would flicker with a notification. “Voicemail.Stewart,” it would read. Then I’d find space over lunch to call him back.

From there it was a ‘game’ of questions and answers with dad to figure out what he needed or wanted. Sometimes it was crucial, and I’d have to call a physician. Other times it was social or about some memory he’d recalled and wanted to corroborate. But half the time I didn’t know the people he was talking about. Then he’d get mad and yell into the phone or in person, “NO NO NO NO!”

That brought up angsty old memories of our disagreements when I was young. He was a sometimes exasperating father figure, prone to criticisms and at the early stages of my life, physical abuse. So I often prayed that I’d get the answer to his questions quickly so that we didn’t drift into a danger zone. A feeling of disappointment followed me around if that happened. I was trying my best to be an attentive caregiver, but often it wasn’t good enough. Now and then, I just left if he was being obstinate. Nothing good ever came of bullheaded disagreements.

Caregivers

I’d often get calls from his caregivers as well. At first it was Olga, the woman that had taken over after my mother’s passing. Then she swapped that role out with her “husband” Leo, with whom she had a child Jessica, who I invited to live at Stew’s house after I found out that Olga had a five-year-old daughter when she first started caregiving.

So it was a strange little family situation I’d created, but Stew loved the company. It was working for him.

He’d processed my mother’s passing back in 2005 with serious consideration. But not long after her passing, he actively cleaned out the closets and had me donate the clothes to area charities. The message to me was simple: Carry on. Stew also kept up friendships with their breakfast buddies on Saturday mornings. Those faithful people never gave up on Stew even when he could no longer conduct a conversation due to apraxia and aphasia. They found ways to converse.

We purchased a converted Mac computer with a “talking” word function display so that Stew could communicate, but I didn’t use it with him that much. I was better at asking questions and getting to the core of the matter than the computer, which only related standard symbols for RIDE, FOOD, etc.

The caregiving I offered had evolved. Following mother’s passing back in 2005, I walked out of my dad’s house after a visit with him and stopped on the sidewalk. “This is all up to me,” I said out loud. I suddenly grasped that I was responsible for the decisions about his care and well-being. Yes, I had brothers to call on for perspective and advice, but I was the principal caregiver. I managed his medical needs, finances and social interactions. It changed me and how I looked at the emotional and practical aspects of life. You have to do what you have to do, and deal with anything that comes along. Don’t be dramatic about it. Carry on.

New acquaintance

Into this world came my new acquaintance Sue, and our evening meals together after she coached swimming became a little ritual. I made salmon on the grill and whipped up salads, but learned she did not like fruit such as strawberries mixed in. In any case, I relished her presence as she loved lively talk, was smart as heck, and didn’t engage in drama. I didn’t need any of that, after all.

A few weeks into our relationship I was driving to work in my new Subaru when a feeling I can only describe as “jangly” appeared in my chest as I thought about our visit together the previous evening. Those were the first stirrings of love toward her. It felt like a “crush” from way back when.

Except it was more mature in its source. We’d attended a friend’s wedding together by then, got dressed in nice clothes and went out for a night of dancing. I liked how she moved. That made me think of a Neil Young song that I listened to when I was thirteen years old:

When you dance
Do your senses tingle?
Then take a chance?
In a trance
While the lonely mingle
With circumstance?

I’ve got something to tell you
You made it show
Let me come over
I know you know
When you dance
I can really love

At that point in life I had another moment of clarity. It was again up to me to make things happen.

I’d loved the previous twenty-seven years with my late wife but she was now gone. Suddenly, I was both obligated and free to make decisions on my own. Some of those decisions would be difficult thanks to the perception of others who didn’t know where I was coming from. Still, I caused some people pain, I’m sure. But through all those tough experiences I’d come to know myself quite well. I knew better than ever how and when to cry, also how and why to laugh. I’d learned how to face adversity in practical ways and also to let some things go into the universe and see what comes back. Call it hope or prayer, whatever you like. I’ve done it.

Perhaps all that endurance training had a purpose after all. Maybe it was indicative of some inner virtue as much as it was a habit or a need. What I really came to understand is that in the long run it’s better to have good company if you can find it. So that’s what I decided to do. And carry on.

One morning I woke up and I knew
You were really gone
A new day, a new way
And new eyes to see the dawn
Go your way, I’ll go mine
And carry on

[Verse 2]
The sky is clearing and the night
Has gone out
The sun, he come, the world
Is all full of love
Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice
But to carry on

(lyrics to Carry On by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young