Meet Cute #4: A Lady & Her Caretaker

This week we’re closing things out and getting ready for a new chapter. Let’s close out Women’s History Month & our “Meet Cute” series with one final meet cute that is not about some random stranger at all. This meet cute is one that sticks for years to come.

 

Today is all about two women I fiercely admire. Two women who most likely would never have met if not for unprecedented circumstances – and no I’m not talking about the pandemic because we’ve had enough of that! 

 

These two women are two real life peas in a pod. This meet cute, let it fill your lungs with joy and hope. Let it give life and encouragement to your tired bodies. 

 

Come with me to the house where I grew up. We’re traveling back through time to 11 years ago. That’s right, I was 24 years old.

A grown woman still living at home. Unprecedented circumstances had me living at home; I had always imagined myself away from home. I imagined myself on my own or married or engaged. Nope, 24 years old. Two years into my teaching career. Living at home helping my family. 

 

Those unprecedented times were coming to a head. My mom’s Progressive Multiple Sclerosis had progressed to the point where she physically needed more help than my family could sustain.

Our house had two stories. Lots of stairs just to get to the master bedroom. Too many stairs to manage with a disease that leaves a person nearly paralyzed. The circumstances held my family in a state of shock with each physical change my mom showed. 

 

The mom who used to run up and down those stairs with ease could not do that anymore. My dad had grown accustomed to patiently helping her move each leg up each stair. My mom fiercely gripped the railing mustering up strength deep within, struggling to move one foot up to the next stair. It was more than a workout for her. She did it each night fearlessly – or fearfully but she never showed it. 

 

On top of this my dad needed hip surgery. He had needed it for a while but kept putting it off because, well, life happened. Finally, summertime neared. Some hard conversations spoken amongst my parents. Hip surgery booked for the summer. That’s when the Kansas winds shifted near the Johnson house. 

 

I knew my mom needed more help than I could physically give. Summer allotted more time for me to be home. I could help with tasks around the house, run my little brother or sister to and fro. I could not fulfill every need for my family. 

 

It was settled, hiring an at home caretaker to help with the more demanding physical lifts and care my mom needed. My dad had doctor’s orders to NOT help my mom during recovery. Perfect timing to finally get some extra help. Even if both of them agreed hesitantly. 

 

According to my memory by June we were 14 caretakers down. Each caretaker that cycled through the house would last a week at most. Either they could not do the lifts, or they smelled of smoke, or their nails weren’t clean. To be fair, my mom had every right for the final say because she was the one getting up close and personal help from these caretakers. We didn’t argue much with her. Until…

 

The company we worked with said, “We don’t have any more caretakers to send your way who can meet the physical demands of the job…except there’s this one. We have one more caretaker we can try. After that, we’re sorry, we can’t help you.” 

 

At a point that felt heavy for my parents, frustration set in, maybe some fear lingering. What if this last nurse can’t do the job? Or Heavens to Betsy, what if she can do the lifts but she smokes?

 

Friday night came. My dad virtually strapped to the living room couch because he likes to do all the things for all the people all the time. I needed him to recover well. My family needed him to recover well! 

 

In walked this 5’4” woman full of life. She didn’t know a stranger. Immediately she’s cracking jokes with my dad. She’s looking my mom in the eyes as we discuss the evening routine. I quietly stood back as my dad did what he could to explain the ins and outs of my mom’s preferences. 

 

My mom smiled the whole time with a twinge of hesitancy in her eyes. She fearlessly let this new stranger into her space. The countless lifts from the wheelchair to the ____ fill in the blank were hard on my mom’s body. It put strain on the one moving her too, especially if not done properly. 

 

I lovingly assumed my stalker-like position. I did so with each caretaker cycling through. Quietly, I hovered.

 

My mom told this new stranger her thoughts: what brush she used for her hair at night. Which lotion she liked best.

I spoke occasionally if I noticed my mom was tired of speaking or maybe a step in the routine was skipped. “Mom, don’t you like to do this step next?” I’d ask politely just to make sure she had the comfort of her routine. I knew her particulars by now.

 

I watched these two women interact with more ease than I’d seen with any of the other caretakers. I listened to the stories this caretaker effortlessly told as she worked. I watched the way she intentionally spoke to more my mom than me. She wanted my mom to feel whole, and seen, and loved. 

 

My mom smiled and seemed a bit relieved as the caretaker did these small but mighty efforts. For the first time in a long time, my mom relaxed. The caretaker took extra care to massage my mom’s hair or feet. What felt like royal treatment also acted as a physical rehab for her stiff and tired legs, swollen ankles, and feet. 

 

Then the moment that sealed the deal. The moment that breathed new life into my mom as I simply looked on from the doorway. 

 

This moment: the caretaker helped my mom into bed. Gentle and caring, she spoke honestly about her faith, this God she believed in more than anything. “Can I pray over you Barb?” the caretaker said.

 

My mom smiled big with surprised eyes, “Yes, please.”

 

“Well, ok then…” She knelt down by the side of my mom’s bed just like my mom had done for so many years with each of her own children. The caretaker took my mom’s hand in hers. She began to pray with eyes closed. She prayed over my mom, my dad’s healing, and my family. 

 

“Lord, now I know this family loves you. I can tell because of the way they love each other. I can tell by the way her daughter is standing over there so protective of her momma. I just ask that you bless this family. Bless ‘em.”

 

My heart stopped for a second. Wait, is it weird that I’m standing over my mom watching this caretaker’s every move. To me it just felt right. This is what my family does. We watch out for each other. I shook it off as she declared amen. I turned the bedroom lights out. 

 

The caretaker spoke caring words over my mom before leaving the room. I said, “Goodnight mom. I’ll see you in the morning.” My mom smiled back. I could see that smile bright as could be even in the dim dark light.

 

I could feel the hope she had in this final first interview. That moment. That night. That prayer. It was a “Meet Cute” for the books.

 

Let me introduce you to Chelle, my mom’s caretaker. Chelle has been with my family ever since that meet cute night 11 years ago. She has shown up for my mom in the daily mundane tasks. She has shown up for my family in the highs and lows. The funerals and the weddings. The hospital trips and the graduations. She has seen it all. 

 

Meanwhile, my mom, she carries the strength to let people help her. She has learned to let go of so many freedoms while finding hope in the help she’s gained. She moves with ease through each day with a smile that stems from a joy.

 

She shares her passions with Chelle. Chelle takes those passions and gives them arms and feet my mom can’t restore on her own. 

 

Whether it’s baking loads of banana bread or pumpkin bread to give away to people for encouragement, reading books aloud, attending Bible studies together, or taking walks and making friends with all the neighbors. They are sure to scope out the goods at garage sales down the street and always return with some gem to show my dad. 

 

These women are the most unsuspecting two peas in a pod. They carry strength most will never know. 

 

Interestingly enough, they carry this strength in different ways complimenting each other. My mom with her quiet spunk and smile. Chelle with her spunk that fills the room and laughter.  

 

I’m forever thankful for this fateful meet cute. The winds shifted that night and brought light my family needed.

It is a moment that leaves you believing in the intricacies of stories precisely woven together at just the right time. 

 

Just when you think there’s no one left, or this last option might not work out, there’s a meet cute waiting just for you.