WE LEARN
BY WATCHING
Journal of Healing – Jan. 14, 2004
By Mary Koch
Watch what you do. You never know who’s watching you.
No, I’m not referring to current concerns about Big Brother government. I’m
thinking of those who watch us and learn when we’re least aware of them. I was
reminded of this last week when I learned my Aunt Dorothy had died.
Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Walter ("Wally") brought a touch of glamour and
sophistication to my plain, Midwestern upbringing: Wally, every inch the self-assured,
competent Air Force colonel and Dorothy, the demur and devoted military wife. They lived
and traveled all over the place. Their occasional visits opened a window to the whole
world.
After retirement, they settled in California for Wally’s second career as a
college instructor. They enjoyed the all-American retirement dream – traveling in a
motor home the size of an aircraft carrier. When they parked it in our driveway, it proved
to be longer than our house!
* * *
ULTIMATELY, THOUGH, their travels ended. It was our turn to visit Wally and
Dorothy. We knew it was our last chance to be with Wally, who was dying of cancer. I
didn’t realize, during that visit, the lesson Dorothy was teaching and I was
subconsciously absorbing.
She always seemed like such a fragile person in the shadow of Wally’s power and
strength. But now he was weak, and she was strong. There were the physical rigors of
caring for someone whose body was failing him. There was also a strength in her native
gentleness. She would offer subtle suggestions of how we could make Wally as comfortable
as possible during our visit.
"Why don’t you go off on your own tomorrow and tour Yosemite?" In other
words, give your uncle a break.
At that time, my own husband was a picture of strength and good health. I never
envisioned myself as a caregiver. Now I recognize the mustard seed of an image, a
possibility, planted by my Aunt Dorothy.
* * *
ONCE BEFORE I’d witnessed Wally and Dorothy both as caregivers. They had
provided a small home for Wally’s mom and dad – my grandparents – not far
from their own home. Eventually my grandparents needed more help with daily living and
moved in with my parents. But Walter and Dorothy's generosity allowed them a few years of
independence that they could not have afforded otherwise.
I was only in my 20s at the time, but I remember saying to them, "I hope when you
are old and frail, someone will care for you as you have cared for Grandma and
Grandpa." Wally and Dorothy had no children of their own.
Wally did get that care – from Dorothy. After he died, she moved back to Ohio
where she had a large contingent of siblings, nieces and nephews. My contact with her was
reduced to annual Christmas letters and cards. Eventually, her responses ended. By now,
she was well into her 80s and I wondered if indeed she was receiving the kind of care
she’d provided to others.
Last week, her grand-nephew tracked me down through the Internet and told me Dorothy
died at age 88 in December. From our conversation and subsequent e-mails, I was reassured
that she had indeed received scrupulous care. She knew she was loved.
What she didn’t know was the powerful lesson she taught me and others. She was too
humble, anyway, to have believed such a thing about herself, and that’s the beauty of
her life.