My husband is a good man. In addition to being committed to his family, his home, and his job, he is also committed to his community. He volunteers for an organization to prevent homelessness, and he also serves as a guardian ad litem for our county. People who take on this crucial role step in as guardians for adults who, because of age or mental illness, cannot make decisions regarding their medical care and legal matters, and who have no family or friends to act as advocates. It is truly God’s work.

In this role, my husband recently became the permanent guardian for a mentally challenged man in his mid-sixties who has multiple health problems, no income, and who is not competent to manage his own care. Out of respect for his privacy, I’ll call him “Edward.” Under my husband’s supervision, Edward was placed in a nursing home a few weeks ago, and when I can, I go with my husband to visit him.

It’s not easy to have a conversation with Edward. He is only sporadically coherent, his voice is quick and hushed, and he has lost all his teeth. He takes medication for anxiety, but still seems to be troubled by what he perceives to be happening around him. I have found, though, that he responds to and is calmed by prayer.

On our latest visit we found Edward in a wheelchair parked in a hall of the facility. He had just had his dinner and was most likely awaiting his meds. In the bustle of the hallway I had difficulty understanding him as he spoke, so I knelt down in front of him to try to make better sense of the mumbling. Looking at him at eye level, I saw for the first time that he had large blue eyes and a full head of hair. He must have been a beautiful child. The thought moved me – this lost man had been someone’s beautiful little boy. Indeed, much of his demeanor is childlike.

He was eager for conversation, and wanted to talk about the way he was being treated. He pointed to my husband: “He’s nice.” He pointed to me: “You’re nice.” He pointed to an aide passing by: “She’s nice.” But worry creased his brow and clouded his eyes as he tried to explain that some people aren’t nice. The words wouldn’t come, and when they did, he stumbled over them.

In an attempt to calm him, I confirmed that it is important to be nice to everyone, and added that people should be nice to him because he matters. He nodded in agreement, although he didn’t seem soothed. Then I asked if I could say a prayer for him.

“Oh, yes!” His face brightened and relaxed as I took his hand. My prayers for Edward are very basic: “Dear God, please look over your child and let him know that you are always with him, you always love him, and you will always take care of him. Amen.” When I finished this time I saw that Edward still appeared to be praying. His eyes were closed and his face tilted downward as if in concentration. His mouth was open and a thin line of drool escaped his lower lip. He didn’t notice.

Then he opened his eyes and leaned in to me until we were nose to nose. “Can I have one of those…” he muttered, gesturing in frustration with his hand, “One of those…one of those…” Suddenly I understood. “A hug? Do you want a hug?” “Yes!” again his face brightened and relaxed.

I put my arms around him and we embraced. I patted his back telling him again that he was a nice person, an important person.

Then I heard him say, clear as a bell, right into my ear, “God doesn’t forget. God doesn’t forget. God doesn’t forget.”

Amen, Edward. God doesn’t forget.

As we approach Holy Week, I am reminded of the words of our Lord on the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Even Jesus had a moment of doubt. But Edward, who has been forgotten by all but a few dedicated volunteers, who no longer plays a role in day to day society, who is not always sure where he is, still knows that he matters to God. He knows that God has not forgotten him. He comes to the Kingdom with the simplicity of a child.

As my husband and I prepared to leave him, Edward pulled me close again and muttered, “I’m sorry I can’t give you any money.” Even though I knew this was his dementia speaking, I had to laugh. Give me money? I should have paid him for the precious gift he gave me.

Wishing you a space for grace in your life today,
Kate

The Immaculate Heart of Mary – finished! And the winner of the contest is….Christine Lavergne Hebert! She will receive a framed 8×10 print. Christine gave me wonderful input on the painting. If you’ll notice there are now 7 lilies instead of 5. Christine reminded me of the Seven Sorrows of Mary, and it just seemed appropriate to change the number of flowers. She also had great insight into the significance of the beautiful and fruitful pomegranate with juice that resembles blood. No one guessed this, but one of the reasons I used a pomegranate for the Immaculate Heart is because it is a symbol of Israel. Check out the Magnificat, and you will see what I mean: “He has received Israel His servant, being mindful of His mercy. As he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his seed forever.”