9.
Carrie’s Angels
Faith can sustain people with dementia to the very end. That was what happened to Carrie.
When she entered the care center with only a few days left to live, Carrie was very pale, gaunt, weak and experiencing intermittent waves of pain. She didn’t look much like the pretty, tall, slender, elegant dresser that I remembered from the past.
I helped her with her first evening meal, because Carrie was too weak to feed herself. Since she didn’t have an appetite, it was a challenge to get her to nibble at the food on her plate.
Suddenly, Carrie grimaced as pain seared through her body. She cried out, “Why is the Lord putting me through all this?”
I didn’t answer her, because I didn’t know what to say. I took her hand, and held it tightly until the pain passed. I hoped the feel of her hand in mine might help her to know that she wasn’t alone.
In a few minutes, Carrie relaxed as the pain went away. She opened her eyes, and looked around the room as if she tried to place where she was, and hoped to see something that looked familiar to her.
“What is that?” Carrie asked with her eyes directed at the small chest at the foot of her bed.
“It’s an angel.” I walked over and picked up the 4 inch tall, white angel with wings stretched out as if she was ready to take flight. With Carrie’s dimming eyesight, the angel must have been a small, white blur from where she laid. I held the angel directly in front of Carrie so she could see it. With her eyes focused on the angel, her face took on a peaceful look. I placed the angel behind the plate of food and encouraged Carrie to continue to eat. She managed to get a few more bites down. All the while, she kept her eyes glued to the miniature angel.
The exertion of eating soon wore Carrie out. She closed her eyes, laid her head on the pillow, and steeled herself for another wave of pain. I saw it coming this time. I wanted to help her get through the moment so I picked up the angel, placed it in the palm of Carrie’s left hand and closed her slim fingers around it.
“Hold onto the angel, Carrie. Maybe that will help,” I said.
That evening Carrie’s husband and son came to see her. They hadn’t been in her room long before the son stepped out in the hall and stopped me. He sounded upset as he asked me, “Have you seen a small, white angel in my mother’s room? It’s missing.”
“Sure. I gave it to your mother to hold earlier. Did you look in the bed by her?”
“No, I’ll look there,” he said.
Later when I had a moment, I stopped to check on Carrie. Her husband and son were quietly standing by her bed, watching her sleep.
“Find the angel?” I asked softly.
“No, I didn’t,” the son said sadly.
I bent over the bed to speak in Carrie’s ear. “Carrie, your son wants to see the angel. I’m going to lift your hand and see if it’s there.”
I picked up her limp hand, spread open on the bed beside her and uncovered the angel. Handing it to her son, I explained that I gave it to her because it had given Carrie comfort to hold the angel when she was in pain. “I’m so glad that you did that for my mother. The angel means a lot to her. I was worried that it had gotten lost,” he said. Relief covered his face. “My mother went to church every Sunday and taught Sunday school for years. Her faith has sustained her through this illness. I want to hang this angel on a string from the ceiling so it dangles at the foot of her bed where she can see it.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. It was plain to see he wanted to do something to comfort his mother. Hanging up the angel for her would comfort him, too. Still, I couldn’t let go of the idea that Carrie couldn’t see that small angel flying above her. She needed to have one closer. So I explained, “She took such comfort from holding the angel, but since it’s breakable, it probably wasn’t a good idea to have it in bed with her. I wonder if you could find one of those cloth angels. She could hold that in her hands.”
The son’s eyes lit up at the prospect of doing something to help his mother. “I’ll have it here by tomorrow,” he vowed.
The next afternoon when I entered Carrie’s room, I immediately noticed the peaceful look on her face and the reason why. Squeezed tightly in her hands was a muslin angel who’s full skirt was draped over Carrie’s chest.
When Carrie began to decline that day, her grip on the angel relaxed. The angel would fall beside her. Each time the aides checked on her, they placed the angel on her chest and curled her fingers around it. That night Carrie passed away with the muslin angel in her hands, and the tiny, ceramic angel hovering above her bed to guide her on her final journey.
Whether it be holding an angel, a bible that the resident can no longer read, or a rosary that has always been an important solace, as the resident’s caregiver, care enough to give the resident that comfort.
God will give his angel charge of you to guard you in all your ways.
-- Psalm 91:11 - 13
