One of my neighbors is elderly, widowed and has multiple serious health problems. She is declining toward death and may be unable to live independently for much longer.
I know this because we occasionally chat at the community mailbox or when she runs into me when I am walking the dogs.
She tells me about her health problems as well as the health problems that her elderly friends, our other neighbors, are experiencing. All of these are similar problems related to aging and health deterioration.
Since I do not know these other neighbors, I find the conversation a bit awkward. I feel their health issues are none of my business.
As for her issues, I wish she would talk about something else. I like old people and am enthralled with stories of work, life, history, etc.
I suppose that her health issues are her life today and that’s all she wants to discuss. So I listen sympathetically and disengage gracefully when I can.
This neighbor is approaching the end of her life. Based on what she tells me, her conditions will only worsen over time, She has neighbors, friends and family in the area who have been assisting her with everything from medical appointments, to chores, to household maintenance and companionship.
When we talk, I often feel she is hinting that she wants me to participate in her caretaking as well. Although I have helped her in the past moving furniture and dealing with her gardener, I refuse to get pulled into caretaking duties.
I have struggled with this decision. As a retired, healthy, single man, I have the capability to help. I have the time, even if I don’t have the desire.
So why I am so reluctant – especially when for so many years my mantra was “to be of maximum service to the people around me?” Have I become selfish? Or uncaring? Do I lack compassion?
I thought long about it and discussed it with my mother and a few friends
I question my motivation but not my decision to remain at arm’s length.
I realized the other day that I do not have the emotional strength to get involved with her at this point in her life. I feel as if I drained my capacity to be a caretaker after caring for my wife over her last 15 years and especially during her final 8 months after she was diagnosed with lung cancer.
One if my friends said it is like I am just beginning to recover from 15 years of caring for my wife as her health declined. He said I have PTSD from the last hellish year of Ellen’s life.
He may be right. He may not be.
Either way, I don’t have it in me to be a caretaker today.
My neighbor has friends, family, neighbors and money so she is in good position to access the help she needs. If this was a different time and place, I likely would be someone who jumped in to help.
I can rationalize to myself that she doesn’t really need me. I’m a friendly, kind, trustworthy widower who cared for his own wife. It’s not surprising that she’d see me as a good caretaker candidate.
But I cannot do it.
I thought I had finished grieving. That I had reached the “other side” of some process in remaking my life and myself.
When talking to this neighbor and gently fending off her implied suggestions that I fill in some gap in her life, I feel an intensity in my chest to pull back, to distance myself from the pain of getting close to her and witnessing her inevitable decline to death.
I am not ready to open myself up to that again right now. I just can’t do it.
For that, I am sorry.