Caregiver Vignette – The Good-Bye

Our two daughters are home on New Years Eve, despite the fact that there won’t be much celebrating in this household. As her caregiver I’ll get Cindy ready for bed around 10:00, way before the ball drops at Times Square.  Then again, that’s not much earlier than when we went to bed as equal partners on New Years Eve. In either case a stranger unaware of the circumstances might be puzzled by two young women choosing to spend New Years Eve in such a tame manner.

Part of the reason why is due to Serena’s early flight back to California on New Years. She lives on the budget of a young adult needing to pay back student loans in an education system that differs from my day. New Years is a cheap day to fly. She would be leaving from Bradley and her sister Charissa would need to bring her, thus calling for both of them to spend Serena’s last night of her visit here at home. Yet I know there is another reason why Serena wants to spend her New Years Eve at home.

“Let me know when it’s time to say good-bye.”

Serena makes that request even before the women of the household settle in for an evening of Netflix. I won’t be spending my time with them. My opportunities to do something alone are limited; I take advantage of the free time for both a little work and a little relaxation up in our attic. Around 9:30 pm I come back downstairs to begin the evening ritual in preparing Cindy for bedtime. Before we enter the bathroom Serena reminds me to let her know when it’s time to say good-bye.

I am reminded of the title The Long Hello, an endearing book about the relationship between a woman and her Mom with Alzheimer’s. What would be the book titles  about Cindy for our family members? “Good-Bye” undoubtedly replaces “Hello” for each of us.

My book title would be The Long Good-Bye, as I’ve witnessed for years now how a small part of her departs us each day. Our son Noah’s might be The Elusive Good-Bye, as he still appears to be in denial about his Mom, despite living with us.

Charissa? Since her recent break-up she visits us most weekends now. Every time she says good-bye she likely will see her Mom again, but that is no longer a certainty. Her book title might be The Many Good-Byes.

As Serena awaits her moment to say good-bye to her Mom before she returns to California, we all know that they are not likely to see each other again. Her book title, for better or worse, could be The Final Good-Bye.

When we are done with the bathroom and I’ve escorted Cindy to her side of the bed, I let Serena know the time has come. Serena in turn lets Charissa know she wants pictures of the moment. The good-bye is relatively quick, considering that only Serena is capable of savoring the moment for long. Serena instead does her best to make her good-bye an uplifting moment with her Mom. I’m proud of both my daughters.

Yet as I tuck Cindy under the sheets I know Serena must be hurting inside. I leave our bedroom with the single-minded intent of giving my youngest daughter a hug, but she already is crying on her big sister’s shoulder. I figure nothing trumps the bond between two close sisters and I quietly go off to do something else.

In that moment a Circle of Tears has been completed. Back in August, when Serena first left for California, I cried on her shoulder over the uncertain prospects of not having normal companionship in the household. In November Charissa cried on my shoulder over her break-up, for which her Mom’s illness was a contributing factor. Now Serena was crying on  Charissa’s shoulder because of The Final Good-Bye.

I know that sounds sad, but our Circle of Tears is beautiful, a reflection of the love in our family, a love that owes much to the person whose disease has been responsible for the tears. Ironically, Cindy will never be part of that Circle, nor would a book title for her include the word Good-Bye. Instead, she went to sleep with the certainty of being at home with loved ones.

The next day would be much like any other for Cindy, while I would begin another chapter in The Long Good-Bye.