How caring for a loved one made me more caring (and jaded)
A few months ago, I wrote "Heart Split into Two Homes," a piece in which I shared my experience being a Brazilian immigrant with her heart split into two homes. My "heart" in this context was my grandma. I started the essay with something she told me before I got on the plane: "I see you everywhere. I miss you so much already, but I know you're happy and well, and I wish you all the best. You deserve it. That's what keeps me going. I love you so much." In case you missed it, she is the one who raised me when my mom moved from Brazil to NYC. She’s also the person in my life to whom I’m the most attached.
I didn't think I'd be visiting her anytime soon. With a year filled with events and my wedding coming up, I thought that maybe I wouldn’t be able to return to Brazil until 2024. Tickets are usually expensive, and I wanted to enjoy summer in NYC. But here I am, writing this blog post as she's next to me, taking a quick nap on her comfy chair in my hometown.
She cared for me the last time I was here in April. She made her delicious meals (her love language), asked me to be careful every time I left the house, and we took our daily naps on the couch. But her health has been concerning us. She just turned 86 in May, and most people didn't even believe she was that old. She's always been a very strong, independent, sweet lady. However, over the past year, we've noticed changes in her voice. It was getting harder to comprehend her. Her legs were also not the strongest—she couldn't walk without leaning and guiding herself with walls. She was also diagnosed with depression, which we believe worsened due to the COVID-19 pandemic and isolation months.
Then, at the beginning of June, she fell in the bathroom. She broke her arm in four parts and her collarbone. After that, things regressed: her speech became even harder to comprehend, her legs just gave up, and the woman known to care for so many of us is now the one who needs care.
After a few misdiagnoses, we finally got our answer: Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), also known as motor neuron disease (MND) or Lou Gehrig's disease. According to Wikipedia, this is a neurodegenerative disease that results in the progressive loss of motor neurons that control voluntary muscles.
I decided to come back and work from here while I help out. I remember when my grandparents (mom's mother and father) passed away a few years ago. That feeling of not being able to say goodbye or spend more time with them before they "left" broke my mom's heart. So, thanks to my ability to work remotely, I came. Selflessly and selfishly at the same time.
Many people tell me: that's so sweet of you to help take care of your grandma. That's so special, that's so...[insert sweet comment here.].
But in reality, I think she's the one who's still taking care of me, even if I'm assisting her. It's something I've never dealt with before. I'm not a mom, and the only other beings I've truly "cared" for were my cat, my plants, and sometimes my fiancé when he's sore or being a baby. So, being a "caretaker," to the woman who dedicated a good chunk of her life to me, has been an incredible growing experience. (Also, shoutout to all caretakers, hospital workers, nurses, etc. You're the real MVP.)
This situation reminded me of those clichés in life we take for granted at times. It made me appreciate those around me more and not be scared of saying I love you more often. This also made me want to take better care of myself and lowered my tolerance toward complaints from myself and others. Don't get me wrong: sometimes we need to get it out of our system, and we all need a complaining session with our friends and therapists from time to time. But I've become jaded towards people constantly complaining about superficial things—the things we can control.
Everyone talks about the concept of "life is short," but only a few of us truly live up to it. And perhaps living up to it is not necessarily taking trips, quitting your job, or whatever things we watch in movies: maybe it's just being thankful for the small wins and taking care of ourselves. Whatever that may be.
