It takes a village

A phrase I used to hear a lot when I first started having kids was, "It takes a village." Maybe this phrase was commonly in use long before, but it wasn't on my radar until the Gift was born. Whenever someone shared an experience, in which he/she was harried the daily demands of raising a family, and friends, neighbors, or even complete strangers came to their aid, they would end their anecdote with the paean, "It (truly) takes a village!" What this means to me is that families do not exist in solitude, the bringing up of children is not shouldered by their parents alone, nor should it. We are all in this together, therefore "I *see* your children as my own when they/you need me to."

People who are experienced with the ways of family or friends with Alzheimer's say that they become progressively like very young children who will never grow up and get smarter, more independent, more possessing of common sense. Instead they will become ever younger, needy, and just plain "lost." And so, with my youngest, Sparky, who is finally off to full day school this year, I am now living with a parent who is physically pretty healthy, mobile, somewhat able, but with fewer comprehension and communication skills than my kids had at 1 year old. It is truly shocking to look back at what Dad understood and could do when he and Mom arrived just 7 months ago, compared to where he is now. Just the other day, after getting Dad's very nutritious lunch, his meds and vitamins, Mom remarked, "It's crazy that he is completely out of his mind, yet here we are guarding his health just as zealously as ever." And it is wearing. I can see it as Mom struggles to undress and change Dad in the middle of the night because he has had a major accident, but who makes his body rigid because he can't figure out what it is that she wants from him. I get flashes of deja vu as I pull up an animal video from PBS.org for Dad to watch so Mom can take a quick nap because who knows how much sleep she got the night before. (Who did that with their kid? It's okay, you can admit it now, nobody cares). And I laugh when suddenly I hear from the kids in a voice like they are giving a weather report,"Mom, did Akong wash his spoon yet?" because they see him putting it away in its drawer (it's not washed yet) for the 100th time. As Mom says,"Sheesh, everyone in this house has got their eye on you Dad, like automatic."

I am humbled and thankful to find that this village doesn't disappear when one's children get older and are frankly, less needy. It doesn't disappear when they start school, when they go off to college. And it doesn't fade away when your older and needy parents come home to you. From the wonderful staff at Dad's primary care, to the network they tap into on our behalf with Visiting Nurses Association, and now with a new care partner, Visiting Angels of Auburn, we have our care village, which seems to be ever expanding as Dad's needs increase.

But there's another village out there, the ones made up of friends in town, and our church family. They are the ones who will text you out of the blue and say they are dropping off a little something, which turns out to be Easter cookies. They are the ones who pass on their reusable chux pads because they don't need them anymore but they know you do. And when you go to pick up said pads, they add soup, muffins, and a loving card to the mix, just cause they know how it is. They are the ones at church who either don't mind or would never tell you even if they did, that Dad keeps talking during worship service, who nod, smile and even shake Dad's hand to say good morning before and after service. And they are the ones who when you, absolutely mortified,  tell them, "I'm so sorry, but you know your Dunkins iced coffee that was on the table? Dad reached over and took it, and by the time I saw him from across the room, he was slurping it down," they say, "Oh don't worry about it! He's a doll, just tell him it's his coffee, he can have it!" They then proceed to tell you about a 19 year old who does exactly the same thing without realizing why that's wrong, so she's not going to think anything of an 84 year old with Alzheimer's doing that.

It's so funny to me to realize that this village has always been there, but that I've never felt its presence as strongly as I have in the last 7 months. To me, this village is the Incarnation. It's Jesus in human form, living on earth, loving his brothers and sisters. Every person who shows in some way, tiny or huge, "I see you, and I know, and you're okay here," lives that Incarnation.

Two weeks ago, one of my co-pastors preached a sermon about suffering. One of the most powerful lines of that sermon was (paraphrase), "Faith in God doesn't mean you will never experience hardship and suffering. Because you will. Faith in God means you have a means to get through that hardship and suffering." To me, that means is this village, this manifestation of the Incarnation. Every day, these people, whether they know it or not, keep me from getting even near to the point where I think, "this is really bad, I don't think I can do this anymore." And if my family and I do get to that point, if Mom decides she's had enough, even then it will be okay. The village will show us they see, they know, and we'll be okay.