Journal of Sacred Work

  A woman is talking on her cell phone in the grocery story. I notice she is about my daughter’s age (36.) That’s probably why I was particularly struck by her conversation. "Don’t you love caller ID," she chirped to her unseen friend as if caller ID had just been invented. "I can see when my parents are calling and just not even answer. It’s sooo cool."
   Of course, my heart broke for her parents. I imagined their end of the same caller ID exchange. "Oh look, honey, it’s Lucy calling us." Except that I doubt if Lucy calls very often. For all I know, maybe she has "helicopter parents" – the kind who hover around her as if she’s still a tiny girl.
   Who knows what we do as parents to drive away our kids when they reach adulthood? And do we, as caregivers, sometimes impose the same kind of intrusiveness on patients or our fellow workers?…

   Knowing the right distance between ourselves and others requires exquisite sensitivity. I know that I have stumbled too far into the personal space of friends, relatives, and staff members. I am glad to have people point this out to me although I do, of course, always feel deeply humiliated.
   As a male I have my own peccadillo’s about being cared for in the midst of pain. These include my intense dislike for the way occasional caring nurses will approach me as a patient. In spite of the fact that my eyes are closed, some will insist on shouting out, "Well, how are we, Mr. Chapman?" I can only think the question is asked for their well-being, not mine. To be mothered in the midst of discomfort can be reassuring, or it can leave one feeling as though they are on the wrong end of condescension (although neither end is good.)
   It’s a hard call. Only the best caregivers know when to move forward and when to stay back.
   As is always the case, watching quietly and listening for the needs of the other are the key tools. It seems clear that some caregivers believe that there is only one response to a crying patient, and that is to move in and smother them with contact. Sometimes this is a gift. Other times, it can be a curse that leaves the suffering person in even more distress.
   My friend, Dr. Tom Knowles-Bagwell, is a terrific example of a caregiver who knows how to keep his distance. I’ve never known him to intrude in the wrong way. And that is because he knows how to listen with his eyes and his heart.   
   This brings me back to parenting, which is so much like caregiving. I know our children find it much easier to be around their mom than around me. My wife doesn’t appear to judge, rarely intrudes, and has found the gift of celebrating our wonderful children as they are. She’s right, of course, and I have gradually adopted her style. After all, our child-raising days are long over.
   But in some ways, it’s too late for me. My children’s memories of all of my instructions are etched too deeply. We still have wonderful times together, but I know that they have lurking within them some of the same fears I grew up with myself. And that is the fear of the judging parent.
   Caregivers can learn so much from this example. Suffering patients want strong treatment and compassionate support. So often, compassion means staying back. This is so hard for people who feel compelled to intrude. And it is a great test of their ability to listen to Love.

-Erie Chapman